Haunted
by Sillycritter
Summary: As a certain day approaches, Juliet begins to notice some curious and unsettling personality changes in James. Takes place during the three years that Juliet and Sawyer lived together during the 1970's in the Dharma Initiative.
1. If I Die Before I Wake

"No please-don't hurt her damn you! I won't let you!"

Juliet Burke woke with a start as she suddenly found herself under attack, in her own bed-and realized with even greater alarm that it was her lover James who was attacking her. It was he who was shouting; grabbing hold of her neck with a horrifying strength she didn't know he possessed, and squeezing to the point where she feared she might black out.

"James!" she tried to cry out, but she could barely get enough air out to make a sound.

She wasn't sure what terrified her more, the possibility of death by her own soulmate's hands-or the awful look in his eyes, one of pure revenge and hatred.

"Go to hell you bastard," he was saying through clenched teeth, and the death grip grew tighter. She was beginning to feel faint, and knew she had to do something, now, if she was going to survive; everything was happening so fast, yet so slow; she wondered if this wasn't a dream.

She managed to free her hand from where it had gotten trapped in the twisted bed sheets, and before she could think twice, she used all her force and slapped him as hard as she could in the face.

He cried out with pain and much to her relief let go of his death hold, tumbling off of her as she sucked in all the air that she could, returning that life force that she would never once again take for granted.

God, she was terrified, and even more so as she saw him staring up at her in horror, and she could not help but feel suddenly furious as he crumpled into a pathetic whimpering ball on the floor by her feet. "Oh Juliet...oh hell I'm so sorry," he kept saying-staring at her in utter shock and disbelief, and speaking in a voice of regret and shame she did not recognize, and more accurately, did not care for in the least. "I'm so, so sorry..." He was awake now and fully aware of the damage he'd done, but the last thing she was feeling at that moment was forgiving. This had happened before-these midnight attacks-where he'd start assaulting her in his sleep, reliving the trauma from his childhood that she knew about from reading his records. She knew they were nightmares; she knew he wasn't awake when he did these things and she also knew he couldn't help it-but none of that was going to loosen the affect it had on her. This time it had gone too far and she was not going to simply let it slide like all the others. He could have killed her just then-she could barely speak and her throat was on fire.

"Get some help James," was all she could manage to say bitterly in return. She wasn't going to feel sorry for him any more; let him clean up his own mess.

James lay in a heap on the floor in a state of shock. What had he just done? He couldn't understand how this had happened; one moment, he was in his parents' house, reliving the worst moment of his life-the next, he was in his room in the Barracks, practically suffocating the love of his life in a choke-hold.

_What the hell is wrong with you dammit?_ he cursed himself, forcing himself to his feet. His legs felt like rubber; he wanted to scream, to find Anthony Cooper and kill him all over again.

When would it stop? The nightmares, the waking up drenched in sweat-fearing what he would possibly do next to scare her even more, terrified of harming someone he loved? He would never hurt Juliet while awake. He might have been traumatized as a boy, but he was the one who had to deal with it, not her; she did not deserve to relive it with him-and yet that was what was happening, and he could not seem to stop it.

It was the summer of 1976; they were still stuck in the Disco days, living under false pretenses in the Dharma Initiative; caught in a time warp that no one could find a way to break free of. The day was fast approaching where, halfway around the world, in another reality (or was it the same?) Anthony Cooper (known to his mother as his own alias, "Sawyer"), would confiscate all his parents' savings, sending his father into a downward spiral of madness and rage, leading to the point where he'd kill his own wife and himself. He would be the only survivor-having witnessed the killing of his mother and his father's suicide, all at just eight years old.

He thought his nightmares had been buried with Anthony Cooper; apparently, he was wrong-for the closer the date got, the worse the nightmares became. July 8th was now only two days away…he didn't want to think about what would happen when it arrived. He knew it was crazy, but somehow he feared that time might obliterate him; that it was too absurd to have survived the same date twice (after all, when was life ever that forgiving).

James couldn't bring himself to discuss any of this with Juliet. Though they shared most everything with each other, he could simply not bring it up. He knew she was aware of his past from reading his records, so there was no need to inform her of it-which was a welcome relief. He wondered if she was thinking about what this upcoming day meant for him, but he dared not ask for fear of entertaining a discussion he'd rather not involve himself in. He'd rather just read a book and forget that his "other self" ever existed. With Juliet he felt free-up until a time, that was-because the day was coming upon them all too quickly. He was on an amusement park ride that was out of control and there was no telling when or how (or if) he could ever get rescued.

Now he'd gone way too far and scared her to the point where, it seemed, she could not even look at him-let alone accept an apology from him.

He knew she needed space so he did not run after her; it was useless-it would only make things worse. She'd probably go for a walk around the barracks to calm her nerves like she had every other night that something like this had occurred (much too frequently for either one's tastes). In the meantime, he'd make coffee for them both and wait expectantly for her return, because he knew that neither one of them was getting any more sleep tonight.


	2. I Pray For Thee My Soul To Take

**A/N: Reviews are always much appreciated! **

It took an hour later for her to return, during which he tried to do everything from read to watch whatever lame show was on television with the shoddy reception that the Island provided; most were game shows. He wound up watching "The Price Is Right", which they'd used to watch together when neither of them couldn't sleep; now, Juliet took walks while he worried.

When she walked in, he was troubled by the distant look in her eyes; the somber expression on her face. Even more troubling was that she wouldn't look at him.

"Hey," he said softly, drawing close to her and reaching out; much to his dismay, she flinched as though he were about to slap her. "What-you 'ain't even gonna look at me now?" he couldn't help but question, as she continued to avert her gaze. It hurt, that fear in her eyes; it made him wonder if evil genes really did exist; that his father had passed them on, and there was nothing he could do about it-he would still become yet another man he despised. "Sweetheart," he pleaded again, when she still refused to look at him, "I said I was sorry." Still nothing, and his heart started to break even further; and it looked as though hers was already broken. She was on the verge of tears and he hated himself for having caused her such pain. "Juliet…say something," he said, using her real name instead of the nickname "Blondie" he usually called her, so that she would know he was desperate for acknowledgement that he was trying as best he could to rectify the situation.

"There's nothing to say, James," she murmured, and he swore he could feel it as his heart broke in two; it was as though a razor-sharp blade had just sawed it in half. "Enough is enough-you refuse to get help and I can't help you." Her voice trembled as she spoke, and her eyes shimmered with unshed tears.

"I'll talk to that shrink you mentioned, okay?" He couldn't believe he was saying these words; he did not believe in therapy, but there had to be some way out of this mess, and if that was what it took-

"No," she said, "that's not enough."

"What can I do?" His voice broke; he hated feeling so vulnerable. "Please…tell me what to do Baby, I'll do anything you want," he insisted, hoping she could see that he was indeed speaking in earnest.

"Then…I think it's best that you…" She broke off for a second; had to breathe deeply, and he knew he'd regret whatever she was going to say next. "Move out for awhile," she finished, and suddenly his throat was so tight he wasn't sure he could breathe.

"Juliet-wait," he blurted out, sounding pathetic even to his own ears, "you don't mean that honey…please say you don't mean that!" He couldn't be alone on that day. He just couldn't, and she knew it; yet she was pushing him away…or had he forced her into doing it? He didn't know anymore. Nothing made sense. His life was a blur of mistakes and missed opportunities.

"Please," he heard himself saying, as she stood her ground and shook her head with the same unforgiving, expressionless look on her face. "It's not me, okay? I'm James remember? Not Sawyer anymore…just James," he said, choking back tears as he reached a hand up to brush a stray strand of hair tenderly away from her eyes. "You trust me…remember?" Did she? he wondered, because she was now staring at him as though he were a stranger.

To his dismay and shock she pierced her lips together with defiance and firmly shook her head in opposition. "No-you're different," she said with conviction, her voice sounding funny, he knew, because she was trying not to cry. "I'm sorry James…but I don't think you realize what just happened, you almost killed me!"

"I know-I know baby-I'm so, so sorry ok? How many times to do I have to tell you I'm sorry?" He was actually falling onto his knees now; he'd hoped the only time he'd had to do this was when he was going to propose, but now he was simply trying to keep himself-and their relationship-from falling apart.

"Sorry won't cut it this time James," she said, in a voice he hardly recognized; it was so cold, and he felt sick with shame. "I'm sorry myself. I can't have you doing this any longer. I don't feel safe in my own house," she added hoarsely, and he felt like he might break down and cry like a baby himself. He knew then that it was hopeless; she'd already made her mind up.

"Don't do this Juliet," he pleaded, forcing himself back onto his feet, gazing at her with as much love as he could muster, "_Please don't do this_…not now." His voice broke again on the last word; he knew he was seconds away from breaking down completely.

"I'm sorry, I can't," she said simply, without making any motion to comfort him. Blindly he reached out for her hand, but it was too late-she was already walking past him, out of sight-leaving him alone to think about what he'd done.

Except all James could think was: _I wish I were dead. _


	3. And Wake Me With The Morning Light

There was no more arguing with her; she had already made up her mind.

He didn't follow her or call out after that-let her have the bed for the night, because she rightly deserved it, and he didn't trust himself anymore. He'd be gone by morning and after that anyway; after that, it wouldn't matter.

Go where, however: that was the question. There were two possibilities: Jin and Miles. Miles (or "Pipsqueak" as James was fond of calling him) was his assistant and had been so for a year. One thing about Miles was the man was loyal and had been someone James trusted ever since he'd been promoted from night guard to James's second-in-command. He knew Miles would probably have bountiful questions but this he could put up with; it was the hurt and betrayal in Juliet's eyes that he could not.

Jin on the other hand was questionable. While he had known James as a fellow survivor and they had since built a sense of trust over the two previous years, James had come to learn that Jin more preferred his alone time. Miles on the other hand was more the "party animal" of the three, though James never would have pegged him as such-when he'd first met Miles, he only thought of him as "the obnoxious little Asian" who liked to push people over the edge as much as he once did himself. It was however exactly this quality that had in the end lead him to take a liking to Miles. It seemed they both agreed on how to run things, and got along better than he had suspected.

Besides James knew he could always remind Miles that he could fire him if he said no (though he hoped it wouldn't have to come to that).

In the morning, he could hardly bring himself to look at Juliet.

"Where will you go?" she asked, sitting on the edge of the bed as he packed his bags.

He couldn't respond at first, only to say, "I'll be fine." Lying: it was what he was best at, but Juliet often saw straight through him, and this moment was of no exception.

"I don't want it to be this way, James," she informed him, but she spoke haltingly and stared the whole time down at her lap.

"You think I do," he muttered rhetorically, trying to stave off the bitterness in his voice that he knew was building there, along with the hurt of rejection, his wounded pride.

His hands shook as he stuffed shirts and pants and other random belongings into the bag. He didn't care what he put there; it was not her-nothing else mattered to him. The entire time she made no move to get up and help him. She simply sat and watched him as though he were on a screen and she was his audience-and he hoped that she couldn't see how close he was to tears.

When he was done, he reluctantly joined her on the bed, and they sat there for several seconds, neither one knowing what to say to the other. "So tell me Blondie," he mumbled, forcing the words out and hating how formal they sounded, "You going to be okay?" _Idiot_, he chastised himself, _of course she isn't-just like him, she's anything but._

"I'll try," she said, forcing the sides of her lips to twitch upwards in an ample effort to smile, but it just came out looking twisted and sad, making his heart ache all the more with guilt and regret.

"I'll call you," he said, not sure if he meant it; what would he say?

"Okay," was all she said in response; then again, silence.

His head spun with a thousand questions, all winding up with blank spaces: they were suddenly strangers; when had this happened? He felt sick to his stomach but he managed to keep the nausea somehow at bay.

He had to get out of there; if he remained the awkwardness would only persist. "So…I'll see ya," he concluded lamely, and she nodded shortly, still not looking at him. "Bye, Blondie," he whispered, and, leaning forward, he dared to brush the back of her ear with his lips, giving her one short goodbye kiss.

When he pulled back, he could tell she was crying; she could hear her sniffling. When she finally did look at him, her eyes were bright. "Take care of yourself, James," she said, as though he were leaving and not coming back…was that what she wanted? He couldn't respond; everything was spinning so much he couldn't form a single thought and his lips felt too numb for talking.

He felt as though he were free-falling into dark empty space as he picked up the duffle bag and left her sitting there by herself.

He didn't look back.

Even though it was nine in the morning, Miles would be at home; this much James knew because most days than not, Miles worked the night shift while he slept.

It took James a moment to compose himself before he readied himself to knock. He cleared his throat; he ran two hands through his hair; he hoped he didn't look as much of a mess as he felt. The duffle bag he could do nothing about; there was no way to hide that this wasn't just some casual visit or unannounced business meeting.

Sure enough Miles opened the door shortly after he knocked.

"Jim," Miles greeted him brightly, looking pleased to see him-only for his delighted expression to turn pale with confusion and alarm, at the sight of the duffle bag and James's sickly appearance. "What's going on?" Miles questioned carefully, seeming to realize that he was treading dangerous and uncharted waters. "What's with the bag?"

James tried to answer but somehow he couldn't respond; all of a sudden all he could see was the look on Juliet's face after she'd slapped him, and his stomach suddenly felt as though he had been punched in the gut.

Juliet's voice suddenly echoed in his head: _You don't understand what happened do you? You almost killed me last night! _

"James?" Miles asked-even though he knew James hated being called by his first name. But the world was tilting on his axis and he feared he might be about to pass out. "James…" He could tell by the sound of Miles's voice that he was more than a little worried now. He knew what was about to happen but he couldn't stop himself; the nausea had a power all its own, and before he could stop it everything went in reverse, and there was his breakfast all over Miles's shoes.

Miles looked even paler than before. "Holy crap," was all he could manage to say, staring down at the pile of upchuck and then up at his boss's profusely red face. He then reached out a hand to quickly steady his friend, who was still looking feint and scaring him half to death. "Okay buddy," Miles soothed with a compassion James didn't know he possessed, "Don't worry about it-just come inside."

Too weak from exhaustion to protest the help, James readily obliged and let Miles be his crutch as he half-carried him inside.


	4. I Ask Not For Myself Alone

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews, they are always much appreciated-as well as patience, which even writers must have-one can't rush the process! **

James was impressed with how quickly Miles laid him up on the couch and fetched him some water, as though it were every day he came over unannounced. "You alright boss?" he asked with great concern, hovering annoyingly close, and James had to fight the urge off to swat him away.

"I'm fine," he said, knowing that Miles wasn't convinced; the guy seemed to have some kind of radar that could see right through you. "Don't be such a pest."

"Give me a break," Miles snorted with disdain, looking him over with utter dismay and nodding in the direction of the duffle bag, "you're a mess." _Thanks Miles…thanks for nothing. _ It was true though, he was a mess-his throat hurt from vomiting, his head was throbbing and he felt as though he'd been slugged in the chest. James shut his eyes against the pain and Miles's disgust, only to hear next the words, "when you going to realize you can't lie to me, Jim?"

"Ok fine," James huffed, trying to bite back the urge to grab his belongings and leave. "You win." He was not in the mood for playing these games; the last thing he wanted was to be challenged, but it seemed that Miles was not going to make this strange process any easier.

"Plus you just show up without any announcement…and by the way you ruined my shoes," Miles added self-righteously, still hovering expectantly, adding with emphasis, "I think that owes me some kind of explanation-"

"Look I came home drunk and Juliet and I had a fight-okay?" James snapped in spite of himself, practically growling the words-hating himself as he did so, knowing that Miles was just trying to help; he didn't deserve it, but his head was throbbing, and his world was spinning out of control…Juliet probably hated him, might never forgive him, and he couldn't bare the thought of that happening, not even for a second; it made him feel ill all over again.

Miles looked taken aback, stunned by his friend's outburst-and mentally he kicked himself for having even gone to the man's house in the first place. He wasn't going to apologize for being an ass, because that's what he was-an ass who was dangerous and hurtful, and there was nothing that Miles could do about it. "Sorry about your damn shoes, okay?" he muttered without remorse, when Miles still didn't say anything; however, now the man was curiously silent.

"Forget about it." Miles was staring at him quizzically, as though trying to puzzle something out in his head-and James forced himself to stare Miles back.

"What?" he demanded, when Miles did not continue.

"You and Juliet on the outs?" Miles asked with overt suspicion, as though this were everyday conversation and if he wasn't so exhausted, he might have clocked his colleague over the head.

James scowled, trying to ignore his pounding head as he returned sharply, "No we 'ain't 'on the outs' as if it's any of your damn business," making Miles blush profusely, much to his temporary satisfaction.

Much to his annoyance Miles looked amused, rather than concerned. "So why are your bags packed then?" he asked, still eyeing the duffle bag as though all the answers lay hidden there.

"You keep on asking me questions," he barked in spite of his throat sore from vomiting, "and you might get more than just a damaged pair of loafers."

"She kicked you out didn't she," Miles supplied, awed and James winced as another wave of dizziness overcame him. "What the hell did you do?" he demanded, staring at James in wonder. "You must have really pissed her off huh?"

"Look if you must know we had a fight-and that's all I'm telling you because you're being such a goddamn pest," he spat, forcing himself to talk in spite of the lump in his throat, "now all I need is an extra bed, no interruptions, and in a couple of days I'll be out of your hair." He knew Miles wanted more answers but there was no way he was telling the truth; how could he? _By the way when I was dreaming I nearly strangled her to death. _(There would be no extra bed for him if he did; of that much he was certain.)

"Okay, fine," was Miles' startling response, "just give me a couple seconds and you'll have your bed, Boss." Except Miles wouldn't stop staring; he could still feel Miles's eyes on him, even as the man left the room, finally leaving him alone with himself and his thoughts….even though that was anywhere but who he wanted to be with.

He couldn't stop hearing the last thing Miles said before he disappeared down the hallway: "Go ahead and make yourself at home." _Home…_would he ever have one again?


	5. And Should I Live For Other Days: Part1

Before living in the Dharma initiative, Miles Straum hadn't known what to make of Sawyer. The man seemed to have one two many identities for his taste and he from the beginning he wasn't sure which one he could trust. The more he got to know James, the more he learned to appreciate the man who now referred to himself as "Jim LaFleur".

Unlike Sawyer (whom he didn't know) Jim seemed to know how to handle any situation that came his way…making it all the more confusing to see the man in such a state of upset and disarray.

Also disconcerting was the fact that it was clear the man was hiding something-only Miles didn't know what. He had no idea why Jim wouldn't trust him; they'd worked together over two years now, and Jim considered him his colleague, as well as (he hoped) a friend. Something was troubling the man deeply, to the point where he'd gotten sick; Miles had never seen Jim react to anything like that, and though he hated to admit it, it terrified him.

Since Jim seemed intent upon passing out in the guest bedroom instead of giving him any more information, Miles decided he'd simply have to take matters into his own hands: would have to pay a visit to Juliet and demand some answers, because Jim sure as hell wasn't talking.

"I've got to go run an errand," he'd informed by way of explanation. When the lump on the bed didn't respond, he added after a moment of debate, "what should I tell Horace as to why you're not reporting to work today?"

"Tell him I've earned a hard-won day off after many a good days' hard labor," was James's muffled reply, as his voice was barely audible from smothered by the pillow, "and while you're at it, make it snappy—last thing I need is someone calling here and waking me up…barely got a wink last night."

"You got it, Boss," Miles nodded respectfully in spite of the irrepressible concern that was growing and continuing to gnaw at him relentlessly, like a puzzle he just simply could not solve. The Jim LaFleur he knew wouldn't shut the world out if he was having a bad day; he'd seen James have plenty of bad ones, and never once had he called in sick: because Jim LaFleur wasn't the type of man who gave up. "Want me to bring back anything?" he asked, hoping he might lure the man out of this strange stupor.

"Six pack would be nice…" The words could barely be made out, as his boss was apparently beginning to nod off; yet Miles still caught them, and the words themselves left a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach.

"Sure thing Boss," Miles muttered reluctantly before leaving, silently dreading what he knew was not going to be a fun night.

"Miles?" Juliet was more than a little surprised to find a visitor on her doorstep during working hours. She had called in sick herself, and hadn't expected anyone to come by-least of all the man who worked with her partner.

"Hey Juliet." He was clearly embarrassed to be there, and she wondered if James had put him up to this; the thought infuriated her, not only because it was entirely inappropriate, but because she did not understand it. "Sorry for barging in on you like this, but-"

"You're here about James," she supplied when he seemed unable to finish.

"Yeah," Miles submitted shortly, the gaps in between sentences only making the situation feel more awkward than it already was. Finding words proved just as difficult as looking her in the face. "He…showed up at my doorstep this morning…looking pretty messed up…did something happen Juliet?" As soon as he asked, he felt like an idiot; the answer was clear as day, and when he finally looked up at her, he could see tears in her eyes….but that wasn't all, and Miles sucked in his breath at what he saw: two bruises had begun to form on either side of Juliet's neck. "Holy shit!" Miles exclaimed, unable to remove his eyes from the spot; the bruises were already beginning to turn a sickly greenish purple. "Who did that to you?" Now even more confused, his horror forced Miles to face Juliet once again.

The look on her face was much too sobering; tears were now falling in streams down both cheeks. "Miles," she began, but her voice choked on itself. She was pleading with him not to believe, but Miles couldn't move as an idea had slowly begun to emerge: one that possibly couldn't be true, because it just didn't fit; it simply just couldn't be….

"Who did that?" Miles whispered hoarsely, barely recognizing his own voice as he stared at Juliet with utter horror; knowing he'd really put his foot in it, but unable to make himself go; he just couldn't leave; they'd known each other so long.

"Don't," Juliet snapped without warning, and the harsh edge to her voice startled him almost as much as the bruises. "I'm fine," she insisted, when he began to draw closer despite her protests, mesmerized by the ugly marks on her neck.

"Famous last words," Miles said, before he could stop himself, "James said the exact same thing."

_Please God don't let this be true….what the hell was he thinking? _

Jim's words came back to him now, before so out of context but now making sense: _I came home drunk last night and Juliet and I had a fight okay?_

An unexpected wave of nausea swept over Miles and he had to steady himself against the doorframe momentarily, suddenly understanding why James had become such a wreck.

"James _did_ this to you?" He knew he was sounding hysterical almost, but the words didn't feel real. Nothing was real…this wasn't happening….he was dreaming; he had to be….LaFleur was not the kind of man who beat up women.

"Miles please-" Juliet protested again, but whatever else she might have said was muffled by horrible animal-like, gut-wrenching sounds of pain. She was practically on the verge of sobs, and he was compelled to come to her and wrap her up in his arms-but this wasn't his territory; this was James's territory-Jim-Sawyer-whoever the hell Jim LaFleur was, because he didn't know now; nothing made sense anymore.

"He did do this didn't he." He said the words through clenched teeth because otherwise he would have started yelling-he couldn't believe what he was hearing, and yet the proof was right there, on Juliet's bare skin. "How long has he been…beating you?" God this was sickening; he literally felt ill.

"Please Miles-it's-it's not what you think," Juliet was saying, but he abruptly held a hand up, cutting her off.

"That's what my mom always said," Miles nodded darkly, "when her deadbeat boyfriends beat her up." He could see the look of betrayal on his mother's face now; the same wounded look was on Juliet's. He could feel his own body shaking, but with rage this time, instead of fear. "I'm gonna beat the crap out of him," he barked in spite of himself, and Juliet flinched as though he'd slapped her instead.

"Miles-" Juliet was covering her face with both hands now, and though he knew he was crossing boundaries, he placed a firm hand on her shoulder. "Don't worry Juliet…I'll make sure he never does that to you ever again."

"Miles you don't understand-" She was practically shouting and sobbing at the same time, but he wouldn't hear it; as far as he was concerned, Jim had already worn out his welcome-he was done.

"Just leave it to me," he declared, and before she could stop him, he embraced her rapidly with strong arms, holding her close; she was shaking all over, and it made his heart break. "I'm so sorry," he whispered, trying to keep his anger at bay, trying to reserve it for the right moment-which would be very soon. "I'll make sure he pays," he added tightly, as he broke their embrace.

"Miles wait!" She was still speaking, barely able to get the words out through her sobs, following him as he started quickly for the door. "Please, you don't understand what's going on-"

"I understand enough," he said with conviction, "I'll be back soon." Before she could stop him he broke into a run, destination in sight-knowing there would be no turning back; no woman got hurt on his watch.


	6. And Should I Live For Other Days: Part 2

Anyone who happened to be milling about during the day in the Barracks knew immediately to stay out of the way of a certain dark-haired man storming with intent swiftly across the main yard. Miles Straume was on a mission: and that mission was to kill Jim LaFleur.

Bursting into his own house, Miles blew like a tornado down the hall and flung the door to the guest bedroom wide open, so hard that it nearly knocked a mirror off the far wall. The sound of the door was loud enough to startle the room's lone inhabitant, and James woke with a start, finding himself staring face-to-face with someone who was ready for blood.

The seething, hateful look on Miles's face told him something was wrong-terribly wrong-even more wrong than it already was. "Miles, what the-" He didn't get a chance to finish the sentence because in the next the man was upon him, everything suddenly becoming a blur, and he was being pummeled and pulled in every direction. "Jesus Christ Miles-get the hell off me!" he tried to shout above the ruckus, but Miles was determined to have his say-even if it meant knocking him out for good.

Considering he was twice Miles's size, it was more than a shock when Miles managed to tackle him to the floor, somehow pinning both arms down and his head was being yanked back in a vice. "You like beating up on woman huh James? Sawyer? Whatever the hell you are?" Miles was hissing in his face, "you got another thing coming!" Before he could respond, a fist came out of nowhere and he saw stars. "You do that again and I'll kill you I swear to God man!" This time Miles's fist got his nose; he could feel the warmth of the blood trickling down his chin.

"Wait you don't under-" he tried, but Miles quickly cupped a hand over his mouth, stifling him, making it harder and harder to breath.

"Oh shut up and save it Jim," came the dark reply, "if I have anything to say about this, you're on the next sub out-and thank God for us all, that'll be first thing in the morning!" For a moment, James struggled, but after a while of struggling and not getting anywhere, he knew Miles had won; he was right. He was done. James felt himself go limp in Miles's arms; waiting for the man to crack his neck and be done with it.

"Okay," he whispered hoarsely, barely able to make a sound, fully submitting to whatever punishment was coming, "Okay…okay…" He was ready. It didn't matter what Miles did any longer; any punishment the man had planned was deserved.

"Miles _stop_!" James was relieved to hear the words come from somebody else-even more relieved to hear that the voice belonged to Juliet. His mind raced: she had come back for him…trying to save him…did that mean all was forgiven?

"Seriously Juliet?" Miles barked over one shoulder, as he continued to lock James in a death grip, "because I could end this for you right now!"

James couldn't turn his head but he could hear from Juliet's voice that she was in tears. "I never asked for this Miles!" she was saying, as she stormed over to him in his defense. He was never so grateful to her as he was right then-she was his savior, his everything, his-

"He tried to kill you!" Miles was shouting, drowning out his thoughts.

"It's not what it looks like, Miles-"

"How?" Miles was on the verge of screaming now, and the arm around his throat was digging in harder, cutting more air off of his vocal chords-"He nearly strangled you to death!"

"Miles listen to me," Juliet was pleading now, and the ache in her voice made him wince with regret, because she was doing this for him, she was doing it for-"He was sleeping!" she was saying, "he didn't know what he was doing-"

"You think I'm an idiot?" Miles was shouting back, loud enough to drown out her pleas, causing James's already aching head to throb even harder. "Well I've seen this a hundred times, okay? You'll say you ran into the door, you fell down the stairs', ect., ect., ect.-it's always the same exact thing! They're all the same"-and the grip tightened even more, causing James to flinch-"they get you to trust them and then they just betray you-"

"It was a nightmare-Miles-please!" James could feel the pull of Juliet's arms on Miles's back, trying to tug him off, trying to separate the victimizer from the victim; only Miles thought it was the other way around, and he couldn't convince him otherwise; it was already too late. "You've got to stop this," Juliet was sobbing, "please Miles…please believe me-it was an accident-"

"You call that an accident?" Miles practically screamed in his ear, leaving it ringing, "you could have died!"

"I know, Miles-he didn't mean to-he needs help-" She was choking on her sobs, barely getting the words out, and he felt like crying himself, but he could barely move, still frozen in place, held hostage by Miles's miraculously strong arms. "I'm sorry you had to get involved in this-"

"You're the victim here," Miles spat, digging fingernails into his skin so that he had to clench his teeth to keep from howling in pain, "Not me-you think I care about getting freaking involved?"

"Miles let go!" Juliet was tugging on his arms again and he was being swayed in one direction and then the next, as though he were a buoy getting tossing about on rough seas. It was all he could do to try to fight off the nausea that was sweeping over him in an onslaught of waves. "Please Miles-please-I'm begging you!" she was shouting.

Suddenly there was a thunderous slap-and all at once he was freed, tumbling backwards as he watched Miles simultaneously fly sprawling across the bare floor. Thankfully Miles hadn't punched any eyes and he could still see as Miles struggled to get back to his feet, cursing under his breath, and turn a look of pure hatred his way. "Damn you LaFleur!" he shouted, and James prepared himself for attack: only to have Juliet place herself promptly in between them, stopping Miles in his tracks by shoving him hard in the chest.

"I said STOP!" Juliet screamed, "Get the hell out of here, Miles!"

"This is my house!" Miles bellowed, his face turning crimson with rage; James remained frozen on the floor, numbed into silence by the sight; never had he seen the man he'd called "partner" so set on revenge.

"Get out!" Juliet shouted, as he continued to send daggers at her, "_Now_!"

"Juliet-" James struggled to get to his feet, but his legs felt as though they were made of rubber.

"Quiet James," Juliet spat, silencing him once again before turning to face their unexpected opponent. "Miles, I'm not going to tell you again," Juliet said through thin lips, in the calmest voice he'd ever heard, "or I'm going to call Horace and have him remove you himself."

For a moment there was nothing but dead silence.

"Fine," Miles growled, sending James a menacing dead-eyed stare, "but you're not going to hear the last of this," he added with sound warning.

"Wait…" Though his head was pounding and he could barely think clearly, James somehow forced himself to his feet, "I'll go-"

"No you won't," Juliet ordered him firmly, somehow not faltering as she spoke, "you're bleeding." To Miles she said, voice low and dangerous, "Miles get out of here before I have to make someone force you."

"Too bad it can't be Head of Security," Miles said coldly before leaving, "what would we do without him?"

The words were sharp and they hurt; James struggled to find words to defend himself, but before he could, the door opened and slammed shut before he could call after him, and Miles was gone.

He was now alone with Juliet….but Juliet was looking at him in a way she never had before. "Juliet," he somehow mumbled through the haze, "how the hell am I supposed to fix this…" Not really expecting an answer, because if he didn't have one, then she couldn't, either.

He was amazed when she joined him suddenly on the floor, and he could feel her tears falling on him like the beginning of a warm rain. "I don't know, James, I…I really don't."

"You have to talk to him…tell him…" God, his head hurt; everything hurt...but it didn't matter; he deserved it, everything, all of it…Miles was right to leave.

"That was supposed to be your job, James," she noted sullenly.

He sat up and glared at her in spite of himself. "Well hell Juliet, I might have if he'd have given me a damn chance!"

She was silent for a time, staring out into space, and though the silence was a comfort, the look on her face-of hurt and betrayal-were anything but. "You might want to try explaining it to me first, you know," she murmured softly, staring down at the ground, "because I still don't."

The words felt like acid on his tongue; he said them but he didn't believe them:

"I'll try, Juliet," he said, softly, knowing that nicknames were a thing of the past. "I'll try."


	7. Teach Me The Path Of Love To Take: Part1

"You going to let me help you or not?"

Instead of answering, James simply gritted his teeth and tried not to swear as Juliet dabbed gauze at his forehead and stuck a piece of paper towel up his nose in an effort to stop the heavy flow of bleeding. He knew he was being difficult and he didn't understand why she even bothered…yet Juliet remained by his side, tending to him as though he were some lost puppy.

Times like these he knew he should be grateful that his significant other was a certified doctor (not to mention a damn good one). Yet to have Juliet tending to his wounds after all he'd done to her, and in light of the already mortifying situation of being beaten by Miles-someone he trusted-was almost too much to bare.

Miles certainly had done a number on him, and a regrettably impressive one at that. He'd been all but nearly beaten to a pulp by a man whom he'd once considered a friend and a partner, someone who he had known now for three years and saw on a regular basis. Still reeling, at this point James wasn't sure if this was what was more surprising-the betrayal, or that Miles actually had the ability to do some serious damage. He'd clearly underestimated the man's strength and drive: apparently when Miles wanted something done, he did it promptly and without any regret.

"Son of a bitch," James spat again loudly in spite of himself, because while she was trying to be as careful as possible, the process was treacherous and he felt assaulted even by her own tender touch. "I'm gonna kill him…that little goddamned son of a bitch," he kept on saying hatefully, as though somehow the words themselves could make everything go away.

Remarkably, Juliet simply ignored his rage, and kept her cool all throughout the procedure; this was another reason he was grateful to be living with a certified specialist. She said nothing in response to his occasional outbursts, continuing to doctor the places where Miles's fists had somehow managed to split his skin wide open. (There was a scratch right above his eye that would most likely leave a scar, as well as the bloody nose; and by God if Miles wasn't lucky that he hadn't broken it in the process.)

When she was halfway done patching up his head, he forced himself to say bitterly through the lump in his throat, "You really don't need to do that…I can take care of myself," which, much to his dismay, only lead to a look of pitying sorrow, where once pure love had been. He hated being pitied and it only made him hate himself more for all the hurt he had caused. Now she wanted him to start talking, but what would he say? She knew all about that terrible day that was about to repeat itself in little more than twenty-four hours….but she knew nothing of his killing the man in Sydney, who wasn't even the person he really wanted to kill (he'd thought he was a better con man than that, but apparently his ex-mentor Hibbs had beaten him at his own game). She also knew nothing about how John Locke, fellow survivor, had lured him into killing the real "Sawyer", a man by the name of Anthony Cooper…who was the one truly responsible for the tragedy…making him a killer twice over, even after vowing that he never would again….

He certainly wasn't going to tell her about all that; thankfully there were at least some things that weren't in that file, which held his whole life story-or most of it-private information that the Dharma Initiative had somehow secretively collected. The fact that she knew as much as she did sometimes made his blood boil…Even though they shared most things and lived together intimately, some things simply weren't her right to know-and yet it seemed she knew everything about him…which was why he felt he somehow owed her some kind of explanation.

"I think I've gotten the worst of it," Juliet was saying now, as she placed the finishing touches on his wounds. "At least none of these require any stitches." _Oh how he wished she would just stop talking_…he couldn't listen to her trying to pretend as though nothing was wrong. He did not deserve such kindness; yet she didn't seem to want to leave his side-and he couldn't help but marvel at such loyalty. "I can't believe Miles," she was saying, remarkably echoing his thoughts exactly, "I didn't think he would do that, James. I'm so sorry he did this-"

"Don't you dare apologize for that little runt! And damn it, if anyone should be sorry, it should be me!" The words exploded from his lips before he could stop them, and he jerked away from her so quickly that she nearly lost her balance. Suddenly he was on his feet, and though he swayed once or twice, he stormed over to Miles's table and, with one swift kick, sent a chair toppling to the floor. "You have to get out of here," he muttered, trying as hard as he could to mask his fear, knowing that Miles would probably report all of this to the authorities and that would be the end of Jim LaFleur. "Just go home, okay?" he pleaded with her, when she didn't move from her spot.

He immediately regretted seeing look on her face-pensive and full of confusion and hurt. "And what are you going to do James?" she demanded, "Go into hiding?...you know that's impossible; they'll track you down eventually-"

"Well what the hell am I supposed to do?" There was an unusual tinny sound of aching desperation in his voice, and he hated it; hated that she was hearing it. "According to Miles I deserve to be shot-not that I blame him, after everything that's happened-" He had to fight off the helpless feeling of wanting to cry; he was not going to break down in front of her after everything…even after everything…he was still a man.

"James, listen to me," Juliet insisted, coming towards him with a rush of unexpected urgency that surprised him, grasping his hands, and he wanted to push her away-tell her he was no good-he wasn't anything she wanted… "I know you weren't trying to hurt me-"

"Jesus!" His head was reeling from the feeling of surreal as he forced himself not to pull away, his voice coming off entirely too defensive, "of course not!"

"But you've got to explain this to me," Juliet went on in spite of his panic and exasperation, "so I can help explain to them why you did it…because they won't take your word for it….but they will listen to me."

"Damn it!" Unable to control himself, he sent the toppled chair flying across the room, sinking to a squat on the floor, wanting more than anything else to simply retreat into a fetal position, mumbling to himself with eyes shut, "Jesus what the hell did I do…"

"You're suffering from some kind of PTSD," Juliet said, and he wondered why she was still even there as she joined him on the floor, "though I don't understand why-"

"1976," he muttered through his hands, unwilling to face her, and he bit back the urge to scream.

"What…did you say?" Juliet's voice seemed suddenly far away, and he felt himself shrinking, wanting to disappear through the floor.

"July 8th," he forced the words through pierced lips, "1976." There was a gasp, and a long silence that followed; it was all the response he needed to tell that she knew. He couldn't open his eyes; he did not want to see the look on her face-the same look of pity he hated, that so many had given him, on more occasions than he could count.

"That's tomorrow," Juliet murmured, "isn't it?"

Dumbly, he nodded, and this time didn't flinch as she gently took his hand, but he didn't speak; there wasn't anything left to say….and though every inch of him dreaded it, he wished desperately that the day was already here, so he could evaporate into thin air, become invisible…just as he was on that day, a million miles and light years away...


	8. Teach Me The Path Of Love To Take: Part2

"Oh dear God, James…" Juliet's head was reeling and her heart ached with sorrow and remorse. It was all beginning to make sense now…the nightmares…the post traumatic stress….why he was dreaming so often about that day…July 8th, he'd said. July 8th, 1976…It was only one day away. (Lord, but she was such an idiot! How had she managed to forget?) Inwardly she swore to herself, kicking herself for this misdeed to someone she cared about so deeply, loved so dearly. No wonder James's personality seemed to be shifting. No wonder he had been withdrawing from her for days…or why had been having the nightmares so often, and with increasing intensity: for the day when, so young, his world had come crashing down all around him was going to happen all over again….only this time he was so far away, and even if he wanted to, there would be no chance at stopping it.

He was still slouched on the floor in the same place he'd been, looking completely defeated-and her heart broke for him. She wished she could somehow erase that day from his memory, take all that undeserved pain away.

"Why didn't you remind me?" she whispered, reaching a hand out towards him, but for some reason he wouldn't take it, as though it were poisonous to touch. "Sweetheart…" Tears stung her eyes but she firmly willed them away. "I could have helped you with this." Again she reached out, but again he brushed her away.

Still looking away resolutely from her (as though he should be ashamed), he finally began talking, but as though to someone else in the room: "Wouldn't matter if I did." She gasped at the remark; did he really believe this? Yet he continued, as though reciting from a play of which he'd scripted himself, "I've already been enough of a burden to you." Again she was shocked by the statement-for in her mind, he'd been anything but. He was speaking to the floor, resolved to avoid her presence as much as possible. "Sorry I've cause you so much pain," he was saying-and she wanted to shout, "No!" but before she could stop him, he was struggling quickly to get to his feet. "Miles will probably be back with Horace any time now," he was mumbling, half to himself it seemed, in a voice unsettlingly devoid of emotion, "I gotta get outta here…"

The tears were still there, continuing to betray her, and she couldn't keep them at bay any longer; he was clearly suffering, but she didn't know how to help him. "Just come home, honey," she whispered through the lump in her throat, reaching for him, but again he brushed past her, head tucked down, eyes locked with the ground. "We'll figure this out."

"Can't," he whispered, voice muffled, as though he had a cold. He was standing completely upright and rigid, as though he were afraid to move. His eyes had a glassy look to them, as though he were remembering something, and she knew exactly what, but she knew he wasn't going to talk about it. "I'll just do it again."

"James-" She put a hand on his shoulder, and his body stiffened at the impact. "Let me help you, I'm a trained doctor, I've dealt with cases like this before-"

"I wanted to tell you," he confessed, low and with the same deadpan voice, "but what's the point? What's done is done…what happened, happened…"

"And yet you're still suffering," Juliet observed gently but firmly, keeping her hand on his shoulder, caressing it lightly, trying desperately to coerce him to meet her loving gaze; still, much to her dismay, he refused, as though embarrassed or ashamed. "That day changed your life forever-"

"You don't gotta tell me!" he snapped harshly, startling her into silence with his unexpected rage, "I was _there_!" He began to pace back and forth, like an animal in a cage, still talking, muttering in a voice barely audible in its craze, " You weren't _there_…you didn't see it…you didn't hear the gun go off…_twice_…" His voice was husky and almost altered with the seduction of memory, and the words were increasing rapidly with speed. He was beginning to hyperventilate now, his face suddenly coming alive, eyes wild as they scanned the room in search for something unknown-and though it didn't surprise her, she horrified by the terror she saw in them-the desperation, the helplessness, where she was used to seeing nothing but peace.

"I know baby," she managed somehow to utter, watching him helplessly through the blur in her eyes, trying to capture him in his pacing with her hands outstretched and yearning-but he seemed not to see her; he was in a world of his own. "I know…" She was almost afraid to touch him, lest she trigger an attack, whether physical or only within the confines of his mind.

"You weren't _there_," he said again, this time with even great conviction: as though this could somehow justify the sudden distance between them. "You weren't _there_-"

"James…" She was pleading now, trying to pull him towards her, trying to grip his broad shoulders with both hands, but he kept pulling away as though she was not worth his trust; as though they hadn't spent an entire year and a half garnering each others' trust. "Please…won't you look at me…?" She was on the verge of breaking down entirely; there wouldn't be much time before she might have to give up, and this was the last thing she ever wanted to do-not only with someone who was in pain, but someone who she cherished and held close to her heart. "Please," she said again (though her throat felt as though it were going to burst), "please trust me…"

Just when she had given up all hope, a sudden tremor shook his body, and before she knew what was happening, he crumpled at once with defeat in her arms. "Oh James…" she whispered, and she could feel his body shaking, and she gripped harder, vowing not to let go; she was relieved when, finally, she felt hot tears melting her skin. "It's okay," she whispered, holding him as they stood there, rocking him as though he were a small child; remembering that day that he had been. "It's okay…"

And it would be. She didn't know how she knew…but, somehow, they would both get through this…and it would all be okay….


	9. Flashback: 1976

July 8th, 1976.

All over America, everyone was having a cookout or some type of gathering, celebrating the country's first bicentennial: the 200th anniversary of the birth of a nation. Gerald Ford was nearing the end of his three-year campaign, soon to turn over the hat to Jimmy Carter (how fitting, James would think later, that the same year he and the others were hurled back in time, it would be the same exact year a President with his own last name would take office).

Five days prior to the above date, the Supreme Court would rule that the Death Penalty-as declared by the Declaration of Independence-was an acceptable form of punishment set forth by law.

The film "One Flew Over the Cookoo's Nest", based on the famous bestseller by Ken Kesey, would win Best Picture in the Academy Awards. Record of the year: "Love Will Keep Us Together" by Captain and Tenille; best album, "Still Crazy After All These Years" by Paul Simon. Most popular book: Judith Guest's "Ordinary People".

There was nothing ordinary however for James Ford on that day…that hot July day that would soon turn to night. It would be a night he would never forget, though he would try many times-and many ways-to somehow not remember; it was the same night he had lost two people he loved forever. (A young boy-he'd only been eight-some said, shouldn't have to know such tragedy exists at such an early age…yet, tragedy happened all over the world, only eight year old boys didn't know this simple fact. )

He could still remember the look of hopeful anguish in his mother's eyes, as she told him in hushed tones to hide under the bed: "Okay now," she'd said, "under you go…" Thinking his father would not investigate and mistakenly believe he was still at his grandparents' (he had just gone there for the weekend, while his parents "took care of some business"). He remembered his last words to her: "I love you Mommy", and her last words to him: "I love you too." He could still recall the smell of her skin, often the scent of vanilla and lavender, lingering…how she'd kissed him quickly on one cheek, leaving a smudge of bright red lipstick behind.

Then came the monster-his father, threatening to break down the door and get to them both, filling James with a fear that he never knew had existed. His father-a tall, good-looking man with broad shoulders, sure to take anyone out in a fight, but never seeming proud, always a sense of sadness in his eyes-had always been a mystery to him. He was always content to remain at a distance it seemed, and was often quick to insult when near; never affectionate and rarely approachable. Therefore if James-always wanting to learn-had a question, it was his mother he went to; he knew not to bother his father, especially when he was in the study, usually with drink at hand. He'd known his father to not be one to reveal his emotions except after drinking, and then his parents would fight…usually about something having to do with words he didn't understand and things that he knew nothing about. Lately, they had been fighting a lot about money, and he had started to worry that they might become poor-but his father was a hard worker; he owned a local hardware store, and they made good sales; he was proud of the business, and James was proud of him.

Never would James have thought his father capable of doing what he did the moment he barged in. He could hear his mother pleading, begging his father to stop-and then, It happened…a shot was fired…followed by complete and utter silence.

Before he had time to digest what this meant, his father had walked in-never knowing he'd been in the room-sat on the bed, ramrod straight-put the gun in his mouth-and fired.

Years later, James would be grateful that he'd not only been hidden well enough to escape the hungry jaws of death, but that he had been spared witnessing his father's head exploding…although many years after, he would have several different dreams in which he'd see exactly that, and the blood gushing from the gaping hole in his father's skull was everywhere and, often at the same time, all over him.

Amazingly, they had a funeral for both parents-on the same day. (Thankfully, both were closed casket; he could hear everyone around him whispering about how awful it would have been if the parlor had allowed open viewing; the thought alone had made him almost vomit right then and there; although he wouldn't have had anything in his stomach to bring up.)

It was after the funeral that he'd written the letter. Sitting alone on the steps of the church, he'd vowed to find the man who called himself "Sawyer" and kill him, no matter what got in his way…for if his parents had never met Sawyer, his father never would have gone insane, and neither one of them would have died.

Years later-a plane crashed-and James Ford (now Sawyer, naming himself after the very man he despised) would find himself under the strangest of circumstances...for, looking into what the passenger John Locke had called "the Eye of the Island", he'd somehow managed to find the same man who he'd tried to track down all these years…the same man who was responsible for his parents' death…for the seemingly irreversible mess his life had become.

Anthony Cooper (James still wasn't sure if that was really even his actual name) had somehow been brought to the island, though he hadn't been on the same plane. He'd been tricked into thinking that he was killing a native by the name of Benjamin Linus…but really, John Locke had wanted him to kill Anthony Cooper-who, it turned out by some bizarre-o twist he still didn't understand, was also Locke's father.

When he'd learned that Cooper had gone to his hometown, that was all the proof he'd needed. When Cooper had torn up the letter in half without reading through it and mocking it halfway, that was all the incentive he'd needed…even after vowing not to kill anyone, he'd murdered the man by choking him to death with chains and his own bare hands.

(Score unknown number for the infamous death penalty.)

Yes-James LaFleur was completely capable of murder…but nobody in the Dharma Initiative knew this about him, but him…and he wasn't sure how he could tell Juliet without her hating him for it. (She hadn't known him when he was angry and bitter, a solitary man…she only knew him as he was now, and she only knew him capable of killing when it was to defend another, which he'd done soon after they'd first met.)

She didn't know he was capable of killing someone in cold blood. She didn't know he'd killed the wrong man in Sydney (he was amazed she never asked why he'd been on Flight 816 to begin with).

Even though he knew he would probably wind up regretting it, he still wanted to tell her…even though she might walk right out on him and leave him for good. He knew she loved him more than any woman ever had (mothers didn't count of course)….definitely loved him more than he'd ever loved himself.

He didn't know how long he stayed there, standing still in her arms, but when she let go, the sun was much lower in the sky, filling him with an overwhelming sense of dread, where there should have been release. He was grateful as she helped him (wondrously without event) back to their home, and lay down beside him in the bed (he wanted to tell her to go, still fearful that he might act out that night all over again.) He was aching all over and could barely stay awake; still paranoid that Miles would return and finish him off altogether. He could understand Miles's anger; he would have done the same thing; he'd never understood how anyone could beat up or in any way harm a woman.

"It's still two hours til dusk," he said hoarsely at one point, but she immediately shushed him with her finger, telling him to undress.

He looked at her as though she were insane; normally he would never refuse sex, but how could he, now, with the heavy weight on his mind?

"Just let me help you forget," she whispered lovingly, kissing him lightly on the forehead.

"Juliet…" he whispered back, still stunned by her sudden vigor, "there's something I gotta tell you about-"

Again she stopped him, and began to lure him into a dreamlike state. He tried to keep his mind on what was happening, and while it was wonderful-she was wonderful-he couldn't stop wondering about the time, about when it would turn to dawn, and then the real countdown would start…and instead of being in Jasper Alabama, saving his mother and father from self-destruction, he was here, somewhere caught in time, having sex with a woman who seemed to forgive him for everything…and still he couldn't bring himself to tell her the ultimate truth:

No one could ever love a killer.


	10. Flash To: 1976, Present: ?

_Goddamn you LaFleur_, was all that Miles Straume could think as he stormed once more across the village green. He had half a mind to go find Horace Goodspeed-Jim's boss-and tell him everything that had just transpired; it would be a surefire way to get his ultimate revenge, as well as get James removed promptly from the island.

At the same time he just couldn't-not after all they'd been through. Granted, Jim could be an ass at times (but then again, so could he, according to others), but Jim had also saved his butt on more than one occasion…not to mention that when they'd first arrived in Dharma territory, Jim had come up with a foolproof story about being lost in a shipwreck on the way to Tahiti had saved all their lives in just the nick of time. (Where he came up with such a thing Miles would never know, but he'd had to admire the man's creativity. He'd learn later that the man he knew first as "Sawyer"-and then also Jim LaFleur (James had come up with the last name on the fly, also impressive in Miles's opinion)-had yet another name, James Ford…and he'd soon learn in secret over a couple of beers, that Jim LaFleur was once a conman in another "lifetime".

Conman Miles could believe…as Jim could lie at the flip of a switch, whenever the opportunity availed…but he couldn't ever have pictured Jim as an abuser. His mother had almost married abusers…thankfully he made sure they scrammed just in time, or realized it before they did any more damage. From what he knew of Jim he did not fit this profile. Jim LaFleur was a good man; a hardworking guy, someone who was forever loyal to those who stood by him; he did not beat up the people he loved.

Then again Miles didn't either-and he had just beaten up Jim LaFleur.

News, he knew, would get around quick…and he knew he had to tell someone…and amazingly, instead of Horace, Miles found himself heading straight for their mutual friend Jin's home.

Jin was one of the survivors of Flight 815, the same plane that had first brought Jim to the island. He was Korean-and when Miles had first met him, he barely spoke a word of English. Since then, through working as a respected guard alongside Miles and Jim in the Dharma Initiative, Jin had worked hard to learn the language, and Miles had to admit that he was getting impressively good. (How ironic, Miles thought to himself, that he'd learned that Jim was one of the people who had first taught Jin English…he wondered what Jin would think of Sawyer now.)

He was still seething with anger as he approached Jin's barracks; it was times like these that he was glad Jin preferred to live alone. He'd told Miles that he was waiting for his wife to return and share the living space with her. Sun had been yet another surviving passenger, and was one of the missing groups of fellow passengers that he and Jin-at Mr. LaFleur's orders- had been madly searching for all over the island ever since they'd arrived.

After knocking a few times with urgency, Miles waited anxiously (as well as reluctantly) as he tried to think of how to explain his current circumstances. He knew the moment Jin opened the door he would have questions, and he was right-for as soon as the gentle-eyed man appeared, he was stricken with horror as he took in his friend's disposition. "Miles…what happened? You are bleeding! What's going on?" Jin demanded, eyes wide while pointing at the unexpected stains on Miles's shirt, simultaneously staring in shock at the bloody shirt and right hand-the same hand that had repeatedly struck Jim LaFleur in the face. When Miles-overcome with shame-wouldn't answer, Jin thought fast and pulled him in by the scruff of the neck, hustling his friend in before anyone saw him. "You get into fight?" he questioned severely, when Miles continued to stare down at the floor, like a guilty teenager.

Miles felt ill but knew he had to say something soon, or else Jin would go in search of answers somewhere else. "Jin," he muttered, unable to look his friend in the face, "we gotta talk…"

Jin was miraculously calm as, like a patient father, he led Miles over to the couch and sat down in the chair beside it. "About?" he asked simply, however seriously-and once again Miles was amazed by his quick understanding.

Bringing up Jim's name after what happened was even harder than Miles had expected. "It's about LaFleur," he mumbled reluctantly, knowing that Jin didn't like to refer to their boss by his first name; as in his country, it was a matter of respect. "Something happened….Something bad…"

Jin's eyebrows lifted with not shock but curiosity mixed with confusion and concern. "To Sawyer? Not you?" (Sometimes Jin forgot James's new last name; it never ceased to amuse Miles…except for now.) "What happened? Is he okay?"

"He's a bastard," Miles spat, which made Jin blink with surprise, and stare at him in amazement, but Miles kept going. "He showed up at my place this morning, drunk as a skunk…had an overnight bag with him, but he wouldn't tell me what's going on-"

"Wait-he's leaving…Juliet?" Jin seemed more alert now, something which Miles was very glad, because he knew it would only get worse from here on out.

"I went to Juliet's place," Miles continued quickly, as though Jin hadn't spoken-relieved now to have Jin's full attention-"and she had…" A gagging feeling stopped him, but he forced himself to go on; Jin was now fully enraptured, and he knew he had to tell the truth. "She had…a bruise….like a ring…all the way around her neck…Oh God it was fucking awful." A sickening sensation made him bury his face in his hands; he vowed not to vomit, not on Jin's couch, not like a man he'd respected had done earlier almost on his.

" Wait! What-are you-are you-saying?" Now Jin looked slightly dazed by the statement and seemed even more alarmed at Miles's words than before, and Miles wanted to grab both his shoulders and shake him, to say, 'Wake up, don't you see, he's a monster in disguise!' but he didn't. For a moment Jin seemed thoughtful, and then his eyes widened even more; Miles could see that it was occurring to him what was happening. "You don't mean that-the bruise-because Sawyer-" He stopped, and simply stared at Miles with baffled astonishment.

"Beat her," Miles snapped, unable to keep the anger out of his voice, startling Jin so much that he jumped, "tried to choke her to death."

"She-told you-this?" From the look on his face, Jin seemed not to believe him, which only made Miles even angrier.

"Well…she didn't…" Miles stopped for a moment, momentarily taken aback by Jin's question as he remembered Juliet's pleas for him to believe it wasn't true. "But I know what I saw, okay?" He knew he shouldn't be shouting; he knew he had to calm down, but he couldn't help it…now that the secret was out, he couldn't hold back. "He's abusing her, okay? I saw it myself, and, believe me, I know-my mom was a victim of abuse all her life!" Before Jin could stop him, Miles pushed himself up off the couch and began pacing restlessly back and forth, eyes wild with rage. "I've known abusers all my life too, Jin," he confessed out of the corner of his eyes, "my dad left us when I was two…then my mom took up with a whole string of losers…and I don't want to believe it either, but you've got to believe that he's evil Jin, all right?" Miles pleaded, stopping to nearly grovel at the man's feet in desperation, "he's got to be stopped before he _kills her_!" he yelled.

Much to his dismay, Jin remained still as a statue, and as resolved as a soldier, and was gravely shaking his head. "No Miles," he was saying, in spite of Miles's shock. "Sawyer is our friend…how you think Sawyer is like that?"

"I saw the proof!" Miles could barely keep the desperation out of his voice; he could sense himself beginning to break, and that was all that he needed…to break down in front of someone he saw every day…who thought he was strong…who thought he could do anything…could do no wrong…just as he had thought the same of someone else…someone who he now saw only as a traitor. "You don't understand man," he practically growled, continuing to argue his plight in spite of Jin's agonizing passivity, "the man's not who he seems…he was a conman, remember?"

"He's changed," Jin said simply, a look of ancient wisdom alighting upon his face, but to Miles it seemed more like a smirk or a sneer, and he immediately resented it. "You don't know what he was like before."

"Like I give a crap!" Now his anger was in full swing; it almost seemed to have a life of its own. "He marches in here like he thinks he owns us, and he thinks he's in charge, though no one appointed him king…well I say 'screw him'!"

"Miles sit!" Jin's tone was jarring; he'd never heard the man's voice above normal range, and to hear him shout at him so sternly (as though he were a dog) made Miles stop at once in his tracks. "Now."

Against his better wishes, Miles promptly sat, now finding himself in the midst of a second betrayer. "Thanks a lot man…thanks a lot," Miles muttered at the floor, shaking his head with disgust, "I thought of all people you were one I could trust."

"I am," Jin declared, "now…you listen."

"What for," Miles replied thickly. "So you can glorify Jim LaFleur? No thanks…no way-"

"So I tell you who LaFleur was," Jin cut him off, "before he was LaFleur."

"Like I care." Miles scowled defiantly; knew he sounded like a whining baby but that was the last thought on his mind. "I only know I saw something today that pretty much says the man we trust is a liar….and considering he told us he 'lied for a living' I guess we really can't be too surprised."

"Stop talking," Jin ordered suddenly, and once again Miles felt unable to argue; the man simply had a way with getting your attention. As well as besides the fact he was older, Miles knew, deep down, that if there was anyone on the island who he could really trust, it was Jin-Soo Kwon…a man of his word.

So he stopped talking-and listened.


	11. Moonlight: Part 1

As Juliet slept, he watched her sleep…amazed that she could feel safe sleeping beside him, even after all that had happened…after all that he had done.

James, however, wouldn't sleep; no, not on this night: knowing what was to come the next day, knowing that it could not be prevented. Knowing that, no matter how much he wished that some cataclysmic event could stop time from continuing, nothing could stop his life from being turned upside down, from taking away everything that was familiar, that he knew and loved. For at this same time in Jasper, Alabama, a small boy was sleeping…completely unaware that something would happen that would change him forever, and his life would never be the same.

There was a time zone difference of some kind between here and the USA, but he couldn't remember for the life of him what it was…not that any of that mattered; after all, he was somehow living a life in 1976, and that alone was enough to make his head spin….How had it happened? Oh yes: a bright flash of light, and then many more to follow…and time would do something he never knew possible, somehow making everything impossible plausible…including Juliet. Juliet: a woman so beautiful and put together that he never suspected she could ever love someone like him….and yet, she had offered herself to him, as a new beginning…and possibly (could it be possible?) be someone he could let himself love, too.

Love her he did, and dearly…there was nothing he wouldn't do for her, for Juliet was the love of his life. She was everything to him that he had wished for in a woman…beautiful, sweet, smart, thoughtful...able to match his wits, and back him up if he ever needed it…Juliet was all this and more, and he loved her with a love he never knew possible.

Before now, he'd never been able to bring himself to leave her side…but tonight, he knew he couldn't stay.

He loved her too much, and to stay was to risk everything…so in the dead of the night, he stole from the bed, grabbed a beer from the fridge, and left without warning or saying goodbye-because he had decided that, this time, he was not coming back.

The moon was bright above the barracks; casting strange shadows and making him blink unwillingly against the light. All was quiet as James slipped silently behind the wheel of the Dharma van that the Initiative had given him with their ultimate trust. (No one would question its disappearance, for they would know soon enough why he had gone.) He knew that if anyone would see him leaving, it would be Miles, who was on night watch in the security station…but all of that didn't matter, because all Miles wanted was that he wouldn't return, and so there was no reason to worry.

He drove to the edge of the grounds and then past the Pylons, standing tall like proud giants against the strangely bright sky…not caring if the unearthly "Smoke Thing" was anywhere within earshot, because even if It was, well…none of that really mattered, and so James kept driving until he reached his destination: North Point.

North Point was one of the several high cliffs that overlooked the great sea. Sometimes he'd come out here to think when there wasn't anything to do and Juliet was working; sometimes, they'd both come out here to have picnics, and the views were definitely worth the trip; you could see water for miles, as well as several mountaintops full of lush expansive greenery.

It was in fact recently that they had come here. James recalled wistfully the kisses and secrets that they had shared; holding each other close as they lay beside one another, all the while listening to the consistent roar of the waves luring them asleep like a sweet lullaby. _Why couldn't things still be that simple? _he wondered, knowing the questions were in vain…_Why couldn't things just stay the same? _

He uncorked the beer and took a few ceremonious sips; though the liquor tasted more bitter than usual on his tongue, still he kept drinking, until his stomach burned along with the pain and regret, and he couldn't think of much else except for what he had come for.

Before he could hesitate, he took a few swaggering steps forward and, for some time, stared nostalgically out at the sea. "To you, Juliet," he whispered lovingly to the waves, finishing the last of the beer and hurling it over the ledge.

He was amazed when a voice-though not Juliet's-answered, nearly causing him to jump out of his skin with alarm: "Jim!" was the shout, "Don't do it Jim!"

James froze.

It was Miles…somehow…speaking to him, from inside the van… "I know you can hear me," the voice was shouting again, "come on man, pick it up!"

James nearly staggered into the side of the vehicle, numb with shock, having to hold onto the van for support, hearing his own breath with the force of the waves in his ears. "What?" he mumbled, only to be followed by occasional static, and then, "The walkie, Jim, _Jesus_!" yelled a fed-up Miles-and that was when it finally dawned on him that the walkie-talkie was in the backseat.

Impulse screamed at him to just leave it alone, but he was suddenly curious as to why Miles was demanding his attention…and he might as well let Miles know he was getting what he wanted. Before he could rethink his decision, he dove into the back, snatched the walkie and snapped-barely recognizing his voice above the world-weary slur-"This better be good-"

"Are you out of your mind?" Miles was shouting, as though not even hearing what he'd just said. "You know what Juliet would do, if she knew you were out here? I know what you're thinking, LaFleur-"

"You think I actually _give a crap_ what you think, _Miyagi_?" James hissed. His head was pounding above the surf, and he wanted to hurl the walkie out into the sea along with the bottle…and yet…some part of him really wanted to know. "Last I recall…you were having loads of fun while bashing my skull in….now I'm supposed to believe you give two cents about my life? Well I'm sorry to disappoint you _Mr. Indiana's sidekick_," he snarled, knowing the racist statement was sure to shut Miles up, "but you don't know me as well as you think you do-"

"_I know_ what's going on, Jim." The statement was spoken with great severity and sincere conviction, and it felt as though every inch of him froze, and he couldn't breathe. Before he could respond, Miles spoke again, this time the words were barely able to be heard above the static on his end-"I know about tomorrow," declared Miles gravely. Then, after a lengthy moment of debate: "I know about your parents…" After which a tentative attempt at what was (to James) an incredulous idea of a truce was added: "…okay?"

As Miles trailed off, James nearly lost his footing. No…she couldn't have told him…_this was not happening. _"Oh what the hell-oh fucking goddamned Sonofabitch-!" His head was threatening to spin out of control and before he knew what was happening James had sunk to his knees on the moist hard ground, hardly able to believe what he was hearing. "What the hell did you just say to me?" he spoke through clenched teeth loudly into the receiver, his voice muffled by his arms and unwelcome Earth, "You better repeat what you just said to me, Miles," he added, his voice, haggard with weariness and shock, almost transforming into an unrestricted growl. "How dare you-" An overwhelming nausea swept over him and he had to swallow back bile before continuing, "you have no idea what you're talking about!" he shouted in spite of the lump as large as a rock threatening to burst in his throat, "whoever told you this twisted story, they got the fucking facts wrong…and I want to know dammit, who the hell it was that told you alright? I WANNA KNOW!" he screamed against the pounding of the surf, his fist striking the ground, slamming hard, not even caring if he came away with blood on his hands, because there was already blood there; had been, for a very long time, ever since he had killed the wrong man in Sydney…ever since he hadn't been able to kill the right one. "Dammit Miles!" he shouted, "you better have an answer for me!"

"Jim-listen-don't do anything-stay there-me-okay?-coming-" The words were breaking up, but he didn't care, all he wanted was to know who had betrayed him. He didn't understand how anyone besides Juliet would know about him…Ben was only a youngster; Ben was the one who had lead the group who had interfered with him and the others…who had intruded upon his personal history…

"Goddamn you!" He was nearly blind with rage as he repeatedly kicked the van repeatedly over and over, "Goddamn all of you!" He couldn't bear to think that Juliet had told someone; had betrayed him. Could she have told Miles? Why would Miles care whether he lived or died? None of it made any sense, and he didn't want to care any more whether it did or it didn't…he only wanted to be left alone in his misery, left to do with the remaining time here on Earth as he pleased.

After all, his watch told him midnight was near, and dawn would soon be on the horizon…coming to take him away…


	12. Moonlight: Part 2

"So you gonna tell me the Boss-man's big bad secret?" Miles asked his contemplative companion, as the awkward silence between them between them was making him restless. No, it wasn't that he cared; that most definitely was _not _the reason why Miles wanted to know so badly what Jin had to say. (Rather, it was why Jin assumed he cared that mattered the most, because he decidedly _didn't_.)

He didn't expect that what Jin would have to say would touch him in any way, shape or form…nor that Jin would tell him that the man he knew as the respected LaFleur had once been an outcast of his own making.

"Full of hate, Sawyer," declared Jin, his voice somber with grave sincerity, "angry at everything…hate for everyone…was nobody's friend, and nobody trusted him."

"Yeah right," Miles snorted with disdain, rolling his eyes with what (he thought) to be sound disgust and simply not taking it. "You can't really expect me to believe that we're talking about the same Jim LaFleur, do you? I mean, _seriously? _" He half-laughed in spite of himself.

"Name was just 'Sawyer' back then," Jin simply replied in return, nodding gravely, and Miles could see from the look on his face that he was sincere, but still he couldn't believe it….LaFleur, an outcast? Full of hate? He couldn't picture it; then again, nothing was beginning to make sense anymore. Perhaps he was losing it…and Jin was certainly losing it...so many days longing for his missing wife was probably taking its toll, because none of what he was saying could possibly be fact. "But then…we made raft, but…the others took boy…and Sawyer and Mike…helped save me from…Others."

"Who's Mike?" Jin's odd tale wasn't helping much, and Miles had never heard anything about a child being with Sawyer's bunch, before his friends had disappeared with the first flash of light. "What _boy_? Look I'm sorry man," Miles added hastily with a regretful shake of the head, "but I just don't get it..."

"Sawyer _not_ the same, now," Jin cut him off adamantly, rushing towards him to placate him and the door, "Kate, me, Sawyer and Jack…all work together, all respect-"

"Look…I get it okay," Miles submitted, trying hard to keep the anger at bay, " but…the man's a bonafide liar, okay? He_ hurt _Juliet allright? I don't expect you to believe me when it comes to your precious friend, but _you_ didn't see the wounds on her neck…" Miles had to stop for a moment to shut his eyes against the pain and swallow back the memory of that horrible look on her face. "You didn't see it," he added again softly for more affect, "but _I did_!"

"Miles, wait, listen to me-something else-" Jin had come forward to grip his shoulder tight and Miles, suddenly exhausted with his efforts, couldn't do anything but once again sit back down and listen to him. What he would hear next would shock him to the bone. "One night," confessed Jin softly, "a week ago…Sawyer and I drank, and he told me…" Closing his eyes, Jin continued slowly and with great concentration (as though reading a script), "when he was…a boy…nine?" Jin held Miles's eyes with hies words so that he knew Miles was with him), "parents got-killed…same day-_tomorrow_."

Suddenly it seemed as though everything had stopped, including Miles's breath; awestruck, he could only stare at Jin, dumbfounded. All the hairs on the back of his neck rose with that one word: "killed". What had the man just said? No, Miles thought to himself, wincing with shame at the thought of his fist heading straight for his boss's already bloody face-it couldn't _possibly_ be true...and yet, Jin wasn't saying anything to try to convince him he was wrong. "Oh my God," he whispered, shutting his eyes tight, as Juliet's words came flooding back to him and everything seemed to click into place. "Juliet had told me that he wasn't awake when it happened…" Feeling unexpectedly light-headed, he had to lower his head between his knees. "Jesus Christ," he muttered to the floor, his head reeling with the sudden knowledge he'd been given, "I can't believe this…Jesus." He felt sick.

"It was an _accident_," Jin confirmed with a sad nod, "no other way…He loves her…very much-"

"I know," Miles whispered dully. Still in shock, he could barely move; the fight that had happened earlier between the two of them now seemed as though it had all occurred in a dream. He couldn't believe that Jim LaFleur could be hiding such a traumatic past; everything about the man seemed so impervious, as though nothing could ever get him down. "Oh God-I have to go see him," he blurted out suddenly, leaping to his feet, feeling suddenly charged, "I have to tell him I'm _sorry_-"

"No," Jin ordered severely, stopping him in mid-stance as he began to head for the door, "you stay, work…let him sleep…he needs to sleep."

_As though he could, _Miles couldn't help but think to himself as he moved to grab his coat. "Fine," he obliged, but he knew he wouldn't, if the opportunity presented itself. "Thanks, Jin." That wasn't a lie, however. He meant it with all his heart. He was now determined more than ever to make sure this wrong was righted…because tomorrow-right now-Jim was going to need all the support he could get.

When Miles pulled his van to a stop at North Point, the other van was there, glinting placidly in the moonlight, but to his horror his boss was nowhere to be seen. Terror sent him tearing out of the front seat, thinking the worst…_God don't let him have done it, please God, let him still be okay…just hiding…_It turned out Jim wasn't hiding; he was however sitting precariously on the edge of a cliff, his silhouette sharp with contrast against the ominous dark expanse of the sea.

"Wait Jim-Don't do it!" Miles shouted in spite of himself, waving his arms, running wildly to his boss's side, "Wait!"

"Funny," said his boss sourly without turning around, "Thought you had better things to do with your time than give a crap about me, Cheech."

Miles let the name-calling slide; he knew Jim was hurting and this was serious (of course, that was an understatement). He had to keep his priorities straight, but suddenly all he felt was anger, intense anger that made him stalk right over to Jim and tower over him, glaring. "What the hell are you thinking man?" he shouted over the surf crashing into the sides of the cliff far below them, "you going to kill yourself over this? Don't you care about Juliet _at all_?"

"Why the hell should I? Apparently she betrayed me," was LaFleur's flat reply, "just like you did, Dr. Spock…" He couldn't see Jim's face but he could hear the pain in his voice. He had never seen Jim like this, and it was startling. There was a long pause, in which only the clash of the waves could be heard, and then came the words that made his heart ache with regret, "Give me one good reason why the hell I should stay." It was a statement, not a question.

"Look…I'm sorry I reacted the way I did," Miles forced himself to say calmly, crouching down beside Jim on the surprisingly cold hard ground (surprisingly, even though he wouldn't look Miles in the eye, Jim did not stop him). "I was confused…and I didn't think you would ever hurt Juliet…and then I heard…" He couldn't finish; the words trailed off helplessly through his lips.

"Yeah I know," his boss snapped roughly, "the woman I love with all my heart and soul and trusted went behind my back and told you all about my rotten, unforgivable past…ya know, it's hard enough that tomorrow is the day my parents got killed…but now I have to lose her, too." _And she still got to sleep with you…_James thought bitterly, _how's that for sweet revenge?_ Damn, but he felt so damn used.

"You didn't lose her, Jim," Miles said quietly. "She didn't tell me about them." Again, he couldn't go on; he knew he was treading on dangerous ground. LaFleur was still obscured by the darkness and shadows, and he tried to dare himself to face the man, but he couldn't.

"Yeah?" Jim snorted righteously. "So tell me, Chomsky, who the fuck did? Because let me tell you right now, just be glad it 'ain't you."

"Sorry Jim." Miles winced as he blurted, "It wasn't Juliet. It was…Jin, okay? It was Jin." Miles shook his head, knowing he was going to get Jin in trouble, but he knew he couldn't keep it a secret much longer. "He told me you guys drank one night and you told him about it-"

"Sonofabitch!" James had spat the words so fiercely and with such rage that Miles had to catch himself from falling; breathing in a huge sigh of relief, he counted his blessings-it was an incredibly long way down. Again Miles jumped as James pounded the ground, swearing loudly under his breath. "ONE guy I thought I could trust on this lousy rock! Why the fuck did he have to tell you huh? It was none of your damn business-"

"He knew I was angry," Miles confessed, halting for a moment before continuing tentatively, "he didn't want you to get thrown out of the Initiative." He had to stop; he knew if he said anymore it would only hurt his friend more than he already had. "I'm really sorry about all this, Jim," he managed to utter, as his boss was strangely silent, "if I had known…I never would have-"

"Yeah well just forget it," James snapped harshly. "You know. So what? All this is going to be gone in the morning anyway. I got what I wanted. You can go now."

Miles balked with alarm. "And what? You going to just wait til I'm gone, and then throw yourself over the side? Why?" he pleaded, staring up at James with fresh, wide-eyed horror. "It's not worth it, man…we can fix this…get you help-"

"It's already broken," James forced through spent lips. He was beyond exhausted and the last thing he wanted was Miles to talk him out of what he had already made up his mind he was going to do. "And I'm beyond help."

"No you're not!" Miles started to reach for James's arm, but then thought better of it; they were in a dangerous position already as it was. "You can get through this, Jim. Let us help you." He could hear himself pleading, and it was shocking to his ears; Miles Straume wasn't the type to grovel at somebody's feet, and yet here he was, groveling, because he had to stop what was happening. He could not let Jim LaFleur die…no way, no how. "Please," he whispered, and laid a tentative hand on James's shoulder. "Juliet needs you to."

There was a long silence, in which his boss bent over, and laid his head on his lap, rocking slightly along with the waves, both of them sitting, without saying anything for a long time. Then: "Dammit," James whispered, his throat tight, unable to look his rescuer in the eye. His hands shook, and his eyes were stinging; he had to swipe at them quickly to make the pain go away. "Why the hell did you come down here?" he demanded huskily, still avoiding Miles's overwhelmingly touching stare.

"To save your ass," Miles said, voice hitched with unexpected emotion, wanting to hug his boss with joy, knowing that in Jim's voice now was resolve, and he had gotten there just in time. Then, remembering Jin's words from earlier, "Just like you have."


	13. Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep: Part 1

"Get in," Miles urged gently, holding the door open for his friend, as James seemed to be wondering aimlessly about, stuck in some kind of daze.

Slowly, reluctantly, James finally faced him, looking distracted and unsettled. "What about the other van?" he demanded. "We can't just leave it here-"

"Don't worry about it," Miles replied quickly, simply relieved that Jim wasn't refusing his assistance. (After the shit he'd pulled earlier, he was merely glad that the man was still talking to him.) "I'll get take Jin out here and we'll drive it back. Meanwhile let's get you home…Juliet's got to be worrying about you by now."

For a long moment James just gave him a long stare in return, to which Mile tried hard to ignore; then, finally, James gave a hesitant nod. "Yeah," was all he said, speaking so low Miles almost couldn't hear him; then, he added a carefully considered "Thanks," which surprised Miles, as LaFleur didn't thank just _anyone_ …and, secretively, it left him mystified and feeling strangely accomplished inside.

"Why were you and Jin talking anyway?" James asked suspiciously as they rode home, suddenly breaking the silence between them; when Miles couldn't answer at first, James gave a rough shake of his head in self-disgust. "Jesus…I must have been way past the legal limit that night…I don't even remember telling him anything…"

"He just cares about you Jim," Miles said softly, trying to keep his eyes on the dark dirt road that stretched out in front of him, trying to ignore the looming darkness of the jungle that flanked out on either side. "That's all."

James didn't say anything in return. If Miles hadn't known better, he would have thought the man had fallen asleep (save for the fact that Juliet had once told him that James' snores sometimes kept her awake late at night. He decided it best not to disturb, and they didn't speak for the rest of the ride home.

It turned out Miles was right: Juliet had been up for quite some time, and she was preparing to go out looking for James herself, when finally a rap at her door sent her running.

She was shocked (as well as relieved) to find none other than Miles at the door; James standing mute just behind him. Lord, but he looked haggard; what had he been doing all night? Something had startled her awake at two am; she had rolled over to stroke his face, and had found his side alarmingly empty. She had been going nearly out of her mind with worry, knowing that he didn't want to get Horace (or anyone else for that matter) involved. Now that she could see he was safe, she wasn't terrified anymore-just furious.

"James!" she whispered fiercely, snatching his arm and all but dragging him inside, Miles following quickly from behind. "Where the hell have you been? she demanded, "I've been worried sick!" Her eyes flowing rapidly back and forth between the two men, hoping that one of them would answer her. She was even more alarmed when James continued to simply stare down at the ground; it was as though he hadn't heard a word, and it only made her angrier; even more so when Miles was the first to speak instead.

"You want me to do the talking?" Miles asked James over his shoulder, which to her surprise James responded with a wordless nod in response, still not willing for some reason to look her in the eye.

"I found him out at North Point," Miles said finally, when she couldn't stand it any longer. "He was drinking-"

"Jesus," she muttered, unable to keep the irritation out of her voice-_What could he be thinking?_-but then James spoke, and his voice was so hoarse and filled with shame that all at once her anger mysteriously disappeared.

"I'm an idiot, okay." He didn't look at her as he spoke, but he didn't back down either, and she was filled with remorse for having reacted so harshly. "I couldn't face you after…before," he added grimly, haltingly. Looking away, she had to force herself not to cry. Her throat ached; she wanted suddenly to do nothing but hold him, to somehow take all the pain away. "You don't understand," he went on, voice low, and when she tried to seek out his face, she found his eyes to be filled with great shame, completely naked with grief. "Tomorrow changes everything," he said, his voice catching and stressing the last word for emphasis: "_Everything_." The last words were whispered, and Juliet wondered how much Miles knew-the fact that he was here, now, meant something. "I don't know what to do," he said then, and his voice broke suddenly; she could tell he was on the verge of tears, and she wanted to do something, anything; she just didn't know what.

"Miles," she said instead, trying to speak as gently as possible, "Thank you for your help; I think I can take it from here-"

"Sorry Juliet-I'm not going anywhere," Miles said affirmatively, standing his ground, nodding at James with conviction. "I promised." He hoped James understood that he had in fact promised-with his actions, not his words, because Miles had always believed it was your actions that proved your worth, not the other way around.

"You don't have to stay Miles." James's voice, weary and world-worn, could barely be heard, and Juliet hardly recognized it, it was so filled with pain. "I ain't your problem-"

"Just shut up James," Miles cut him off sharply, but so endearingly that he knew Jim couldn't refuse. "My friends are _always_ my problem." Both he and Juliet was startled by a sharp intake of breath from James, who had started to shake, as though from a great fright, but Juliet knew that was not the case.

"Goddamn Sonofabitch!" James snapped, turning to punch the wall with all his might, but he wasn't yelling at anyone else but himself. He couldn't-he wouldn't- break in front of Miles Straume, someone he worked with. Not here…not now. After all he was James Ford, and James Ford didn't cry. _Ever._ Tears made you weak. Only once could he remember crying, and that had been back when he was eight, and even then, it had been like a bee sting-_okay son, you can cry, but we have to go say goodbye now_. Fuck tears-too many tears throughout his lifetime. One person shouldn't have to endure so much fucking grief.

"James," Juliet whispered lovingly, but he pretended not to hear her; he only wanted to be alone, alone in his grief and misery. (Dammit-why couldn't they go away?) Why had Miles bothered to get involved to begin with? Better to stay angry; better to have resented him to begin with; he was just a burden to the people he loved, who loved him. Love shouldn't have to be so much damn work.

"Just-both of you-leave me the hell alone," he whispered hoarsely, pacing wildly, and somehow managed to stagger dangerously into the dimly lit living room. God he felt ill; the entire room was spinning on its axis, threatening to tilt.

"Jim, it's _okay_," Miles was insisting, following, comforting as though somehow he fucking _knew_, and that made him want to strike out and attack someone, because it most certainly _was not_ fucking goddamn _okay_.

He collapsed on the couch, world slipping away, burying his head deep in the couch, wishing he could stop the onslaught of memories coming, but still they came, and he didn't want to look at the clock; soon it wouldn't matter, because the sun would be up anyway…damn new day…always bringing empty promises…his head was pounding something awful and his throat was clogged with broken screams.

"James-" Juliet's hand was on his back, rubbing, as though she could somehow rub out his sorrow, but that wasn't how it worked, no, you had to fight, and he was done fighting. It was too hard; the pain was too much, and his heart was in tatters, and when she said his name again, something broke inside, something that he thought had already been broken, and he was shaking uncontrollably in her arms. "It's going to be okay," she was saying, kissing his head, moving the hair away from his eyes, but he didn't want to be seen-not like this-just a weak sonofabitch who couldn't hold onto his emotions anymore.

"No," he was shouting, but his voice was muffled by the cushion, "No…"

And then he was crying, crying hard like some damn kid, but she wasn't letting go, she was holding him rock-solid like she was his mother, rocking him back and forth, and he couldn't stop himself. He couldn't help it. "So sorry," he was saying, over and over, "I'm so damn sorry…" Not even knowing who he was apologizing to. He sounded like a blubbering idiot and he hated it.

"Miles go and get him some water," she ordered abruptly over his shoulder instead of silencing him, and he was grateful that she wasn't leaving, but he wanted to die all over again, knowing that Miles was still there, seeing him in such a state…how would he be able to look him in the face ever again?

Then the glass, full of nourishing liquid, was being held out to him, but he didn't want it. He didn't deserve to be comforted like this. When had he ever been comforted like this? _Panic attack…that's all this is…just a stupid panic attack-get over it-you're a man-_"Gotta be a man now," he could hear his Uncle saying. _Gotta be a man…_He didn't feel like a man. He felt like he was going insane; also, he didn't know what to feel.

Panic attacks: he hadn't had one in a long time, but he'd had them quite often as a kid, and his uncle hadn't known what to do with him; he'd just forced him to see some nut-job psychiatrist who was probably certifiable in his own right, as he'd just had him stare at Rorschach charts all day long (_What do you see in the painting James? Tell me, what do you see?_). Saw him twice a week for almost a year and this had accomplished absolutely nothing.

"It's going to be okay," Juliet was saying now, and he was lying on his back, still shaking, but he wasn't crying anymore; he had no tears left. "Just relax…it's all going to be okay…"

"Don't let me go to sleep," he somehow spoke through shattered breath, "please-don't let me fall asleep…" He could barely think through the dull thudding in his brain.

"Miles go and grab him a blanket, okay?" She wasn't listening…why was she getting him a blanket?

"Okay," came the abrupt reply. Miles-not leaving-in spite of his request. _Damn you Miles. _He wouldn't be able to go to work, face everyone, much less leave the house ever again.

"I'm going to lead you through an exercise," Juliet whispered, stroking his head as she spoke lovingly to him. "It's a hypnosis technique I learned my second year in medical school."

"I'm not going to sleep!" he persisted, eyes wild, but she hushed him with a single finger.

"Just relax," she whispered. "Listen to my voice. Don't think about anything else. Concentrate _only _on my voice." She went on to instruct him to relax each part of his body, one by one, and he wanted to tell her to stop, but suddenly around him everything began to swim in front of his eyes, and a warm sensation flooded his insides, and he knew he shouldn't be, but he was drifting off somewhere into a place where pain did not exist…a place he didn't know could possibly be…


	14. Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep: Part 2

He was walking through a forest.

No, it wasn't a forest-it was a jungle.

It was a jungle, and he was walking through the jungle-No-running. He was running, the trees and vines were all closing in on him, from all sides, threatening to choke him. Something large and vicious was not far behind...it was chasing him...wanting to kill him.

He was so tired he felt like just falling down and letting the beast have its day...but that would be giving up. Always survive...at all costs...even when it seems like you won't: that was his mission, it seemed, from day one.

"What do you want?" he was shouting, screaming bloody murder as he ran for his life through the jungle. Shadows flew about his head, threatening to peck his eyes out for their own satisfaction. "Just tell me goddamn it! What the hell do you want!"

He never was able to find out, because the next thing he knew his foot caught hold on a root, sending him flying, flailing, swinging his arms like a propeller blade as he went headfirst over the edge and into the ravine...

"NO!" James Ford woke screaming and writhing in a pool of his own sweat, breathing heavily, barely able to catch a breath. Something wet and soft was being applied to his forehead. Someone was by his side, trying to hush him.

"Shhhh," whispered a voice so gentle, so loving he hardly believed it to be real. "It's okay honey...I'm here...everything will be okay in the morning..."

Except it wouldn't be. Didn't she know? Tomorrow everything would end. Tomorrow night, at approximately 7 pm, his father would walk into the bathroom and murder his mother in cold blood, and he would see the whole thing...but if he was here, in the Dharma Initiative, how would that happen? Could two of him exist at the very same time? So many questions he couldn't answer. The scientist Dr. Faraday had said "Whatever happened, happened." He could recall his Uncle Doug telling him the day of the funeral, as he'd sat on the steps of the church writing the letter he would someday give to the "real" Sawyer, "What's done is done." He had tried to live by that scenario, and it had served him well...up until today. Now, he could see sunlight beginning to stream in through the windows. The sun was coming up. If he somehow made it off the Island, he would be able to find his way back to Jasper Alabama, he could put a stop to everything...

Fever dreams, he told himself. You're falling apart. You're letting this place get to you-just like it did to John Locke. Locke's father...who knew they'd have this in common?...his father had been the real Sawyer. Things like that happened on this Island...Crazy things...things like him wanting to throw himself off a cliff in the middle of the night. He could have done it, but then, he'd be a coward just like his dad...and where would that get him? His parents would still be dead. Juliet would probably never forgive him for doing it.

He was semi-aware of a female presence in the room as he drifted in and out of consciousness, wanting to sleep dreamlessly for the rest of eternity...except she was there, calling him back, calling him home. "James...it's me," she said at one point. "Wake up hon...I'm here, you're safe. Everyone's okay."

_No they're not_, he wanted to scream at her. _And none of us are safe-why the hell are you lying to me!_ Oh God, he felt so ill, and his throat was so tight, as though something or someone had gripped his neck in a vice, and was choking him. _Oh God..._he didn't want to, but he suddenly found himself praying, _Please dear God, if you exist, please just let me get through this day..._

"Sorry Juliet." Miles Straume was prepared to put up a fight if he had to, and now he firmly stood his ground. "I'm not leaving him. I gave him my word."

"Miles..." Juliet was once again on the verge of tears, and she was beginning to realize that once this man got something in his head planned, there was simply no way around it. "Please understand...he'll be embaressed enough when he comes out of it. He's gone delirious from the nightmares; he's probably got a hangover and I just need you to tell Horace he's go the flu or something, okay?" She knew if she kept talking she would raise her voice to a shout, and she didn't want to yell; she'd been grateful to Miles for his help the previous night, but she knew James would never let her off the hook for keeping Miles around.

"No," Miles declared, this time with even more conviction. "He needs us both."

He had a point, Juliet had to admit to herself. Glancing fretfully over to the bed, she watched James tossing and turning and mumbling to himself. He seemed to have broke out in a fever overnight, though she wasn't sure how; could it be psychological? She had no idea, except that he was sweating buckets and she was more worried now than she ever had been.

"Okay," she acquiesced finally, turning hesitantly back around to Miles with a reluctant nod for permission. James would be angry, she knew, but at least she didn't have to carry this load all on her own. "Just remember he's in a very fragile state right now, Miles." Tears began falling down both her cheeks but she was hardly aware of them, and Miles-moved to speechlessness-wrapped her up immediately in a comforting hug. (It was what he used to do for his mom on those days when he patched her up after some asshole had knocked her unconcious...it was what he would do for Juliet, because she was a woman, and she'd been a good friend to him these painfully long two years.)

"So..." Miles suddenly felt shy, which was odd for him; he was hardly ever unsure. "You really think he's going to be okay?" He was embarrassed at how childlike he sounded just then, but he was afraid...just as James had been, so afaid he could barely sleep the night before...and it was a relief, because now he knew: even brave men got scared sometimes.

Juliet sat gently beside James' side, stroking his hand every few moments, wishing to God that she knew the answer. "I hope so, Miles," she said softly, never taking her eyes off of James. "I hope so."

James slept on.


	15. Dreams: Part 1

"LET GO!" He was trying to keep the policeman away, but still the cop wouldn't leave him alone-just let him be. He only wanted his mommy; where was his mommy? He remained half-hidden in shadows on the bare wooden floor. _Come any closer and I'll sink my teeth in. _

"Just come out, son." The cop, a male, was trying to be as gentle as possible, but it only made him squeeze his small body back further beneath the bed, as far out of the man's reach as he possibly could. "We're only here to help you," the same voice said, deep and soothing, nothing at all like his dad's. He could still smell the trail of gunpowder in the air and it stung his nostrils as well as his eyes. He wouldn't cry-crying was for babies, and he wasn't a baby, he was eight and a half. You only cried when no one could see you...that was the unspoken rule, and though his father had never said this directly, he simply could not remember ever seeing his father cry.

"Let me talk to him," another voice intervened, this time a woman's, and the sound of a female voice made him quake inside-where was his mommy? He only wanted her. He didn't want this woman. She would know he'd wet his pants as soon as his father's gun had gone off. If he took his hand, she would know; all of them would, and they'd put him away because he was a coward, he couldn't make his father stop screaming and hurting.

"Hey kiddo," said the woman, and when he looked up, he saw the kindness in her eyes, the sympathy that he would grow to hate. "My name is Maria Sanchez. I'm a police officer. I'm here to help you and I want you to know you can trust me."

That's what the man said too, he thought mournfully... The man who had become such good friends with Mommy and Daddy. He'd been in the living room, playng, overhearing a conversation in the kitchen. "You can trust me, you know," the man named Sawyer had said. "Don't either of you two worry: I got both your backs."

But then there had been a big fight-and argument-between Mommy and Daddy about Mr. Sawyer...and it was very clear to James that this man couldn't be trusted...and was in fact directly responsible for what his daddy had done.

What had he done? Young James shivered at the thought, hugging himself in the dark-the cold wetness in his shorts travelling up his spine and into his brain. He did not want to go with this Sanchez lady; he only wanted his mommy, but they told him that she was being brought to the hospital, she was hurt very badly, and he couldn't see her right now.

Hours went by and still he would not come out.

Then Uncle Doug had appeared suddenly from out of the blue. Uncle Doug, who looked scared-and were those tears in his eyes?-and James, mesmerized, had allowed his Uncle to pull him out from underwater, and wrap him in safe arms, cradle him and attempt to help him forget...but there was no forgetting that night; it would be emblazoned on his brain for years to come. He would see Sawyer everywhere...even in books. In high school (before he'd unceremoniously dropped out) he read "Of Mice and Men" and saw Sawyer as the one who was dragging him down, keeping him from finding the release that he needed.

Mommy had never come home from the hospital.

This wasn't right. He shouldn't be here. He should be home in Jasper Alabama, having cornflakes and watching cartoons on TV-

James forced back the urge to cry out, startling himself awake and finding back in his very own room.

He was alone. The shades were drawn (thank God), and he was (completely?) alone.

Where was Juliet? Through the thick fog he groped for something to hold, and instead he wound up hugging his knees and rocking himself into a fetal position. "Help me," he whispered to no one, knowing that no one could-he was on his own-always had been, always would be. In spite of his efforts to stop it, a single tear escaped; tasting the bitter salt on his tongue, he wanted to gag at the memory from the night before.

Only this was much worse, because this was today, and he knew what today meant: today would be the day that his life changed forever...

"Damn you, you fucking sonofabitch," he spat bitterly into the bedsheets, muffling his voice so that if he screamed it, no one would know. God but he wished he could go back. Knowing at the same time he was crazy for wanting to. (After all once had been more than enough.) "Juliet," he called out, his voice sounding foreign even to his own ears. "Juliet where are you?" God he sounded pathetic. Like a lost little boy. He hoped he was dreaming.

"James?" All at once, as if on cue, Juliet burst into the room, her face etched with alarm and concern, and it couldn't be possible, but he was falling in love with her all over again: falling in love, because otherwise he'd just be falling, and there would be no one there to stop him from hitting the ground. "Are you okay?" she asked haltingly.

"Just dandy," he tried to joke lamely, only neither one laughed. He knew he must look terrible; his head was still aching and his stomach was in knots. Touching his forehead, it felt clammy and warm, as though he were feverish. "Hey...am I sick?"

"You had a fever of 100 degrees," Juliet murmured, reaching out to test the waters as well.

He suddenly realized how stupid joking was right then, because the way she was looking at him, with such concern and sorrow, was all the proof that he needed to know he was losing it altogether. "Bitch of a night," he somehow kept talking, trying to ignore the guilt that invaded him like a parasite, "sorry if I scared you...scared the hell outta me too." Yes, he really must be losing it-his acting performance was lacking luster and everything left him feeling drained.

"I understand James...I do," she allowed, coming to sit beside him and holding his head with both hands, so that he felt as though she were somehow keeping him afloat. "I can't imagine what that night must have been for you. These dreams. They're tearing you apart." He tried to avoid her direct gaze but her hands were strong; they were pinning him in place and he had to look at her. "I'm going to help you get through this," she said with conviction. "I have an idea how to-"

"I don't even know how the hell I slept at all," he confessed softly, cutting her off purposefully; there would be no sleeping for him...not until this terrible nightmare was over. "All I know is that whatever technique you used on me, it had me dreamin, and I was dreamin of this jungle...and something big was chasin me." He could remember it now: the horrible anticipation of something large and looming...threatening his very being, wanting to take him under... "If that had anything to do with your hypnosis technique...forget it," he added flatly, still without looking at her, because he did not want to see the hurt in her eyes.

"I'm just trying to help." It didn't matter apparently whether or not he looked her in the face, as the pain he'd inflicted was evident in her voice. "You could try to be a little accomodating-"

"Fuck 'accomodating'!" he yelled, and then abruptly snapped his mouth shut-because he'd already done enough damage today. She looked like she wanted to slap him (and rightfully so) but surprisingly said nothing; instead, she simply looked away and piereced both lips together tightly.

They sat in silence after that, neither one acknowledging the other. He knew he shouldn't be, but he felt relieved. (Yes, he knew he was being a bastard, but he couldn't help it.) She shouldn't expect politeness from him-not today. Nobody should expect anything. He was invisible to the world. He was James Ford...who did not exist.


	16. Dreams: Part 2

"I don't know what else to do with him, Miles," Juliet confessed haltingly as she collapsed into the seat across from Miles, who was sitting quietly at the kitchen table, watching the door through which she'd come through with concern. "I've never seen him like this before." Like many other times that day, she felt the urge to cry, but fought it back (this was about James, not her).

"Juliet…" Clearing his throat, Miles tried to exorcize the right words; he was never one for talking personal, and tried not to show how uncomfortable he was. "It's 1976," he declared finally, reaching a hand out towards Juliet and taking her hand in his. "This is the day his parents were killed," he added slowly, trying all the while to put himself in Jim's shoes-but, having grown up with only one parent and having never seen her killed in front of his eyes, it was an arduous task. "That's probably a good thing to remember right now," he added gently, trying to focus on his words instead of Juliet's face, as she looked about to burst into tears (for the umpteenth time that day), and he wasn't used to having anyone-least of all a woman-cry on his shoulder.

"I know," Juliet exhaled sadly-a long, drawn out, shaky breath-shaking her head against the bad memories of too many long nights, and impatiently wiping away determined tears. "I just wish he weren't…suffering," she allowed, unable to keep her feelings or thoughts to herself any longer.

"Don't we all," Miles muttered with a shrug of inward amusement, nodding back at her in sober agreement. He'd seen more than his fair share of suffering throughout his life. Not only had he watched his beloved mother die of cancer, but he'd witnessed many deaths of people he didn't even know, didn't care to know, nor did he want to know. This was because of his gift-his ability to speak with the dead—something he'd been able to do ever since he was a young boy. (Secretly, he was glad that LaFleur's parents' bodies were nowhere near, because he wouldn't want to face LaFleur after seeing exactly what had happened, knowing that Jim had only been able to hear, but not see, through the closed bathroom door.)

"He's refusing hypnotherapy."

In spite of himself, Miles snorted loudly and rolled his eyes, causing Juliet to freeze in place and stare back at him, mystified. "I wonder why! Because if tomorrow were the day your parents were killed all over again and on _the same day_ 'It' happened, you were given the opportunity to relive the nightmare all over again, would _you_ let someone hack into your brain?" More amused than annoyed, Miles couldn't help but chuckle to himself as he added, "cause if you do, then you're braver than the both of us."

"I'm a doctor," Juliet replied forcefully, trying to keep her anger at bay-and failing, causing Miles to look up at her with surprise, "and I know what's good for patients with his kind of diagnosis."

" 'Diagnosis'?" Miles fell deep in thought, staring off for a moment into space, frowning. "You mean like Post Traumatic Stress Disorder?"

"Most definitely," Juliet nodded with conviction. "He needs someone to help him talk through this, if he's ever going to get himself out of it."

"Jim doesn't 'talk'," Miles pointed out defiantly, "and in fact I think I heard him male an anti-therapy joke once."

"Because he's been through so much of it already," Juliet replied, surprising Miles once again with her insight. "He was a traumatized child, Miles…he's probably undergone hypnosis before, just so he could remember enough to be able to tell them what happened."

"You mean with his parents," Miles noted, understanding, but then much to Juliet's dismay, he shook his head with annoyance. "But what would hypnotizing him do? You want to make him bark like a dog? What good would that do anyone?"

"Not that kind of hypnosis," Juliet explained, "the kind that draws you deep into your subconscious mind and helps you to resurface old unwanted memories…like what happened to cause you to hate your father…or yourself…"

(_Or almost choke your loved one to death, _Miles almost said, but immediately thought better of it.)

"As far as hating fathers goes," Miles tight-lipped (surprising himself at his own bitterness) "it seems to me that Jim has a pretty damn good reason."

"Maybe so," Juliet offered, "but I think hypnotherapy could benefit him…and there has to be some way…" The image of a hand barreling towards her face froze Juliet and she could not move.

" 'Some way'…some way what?" Miles encouraged eagerly, getting impatient-but he was startled into silence when Juliet's only response was to cover her face with both hands, and promptly burst into tears.

"Oh, Juliet…" Miles murmured, moved almost to speechlessness-those tears, he'd seen far, far too many of them-and immediately he reached out for her, taking her into both of his arms, and much to his relief she went willingly; he was not used to comforting so much as he had been lately-but these two strange days had been providing him with incredibly unique opportunities that he was not going to let go to waste. "It's going to be okay," he found himself saying in spite of alternating beliefs, "it will," and then he couldn't go on either, as Juliet had started to sob and there was a suddenly mysterious lump in his throat.

(He'd never been able to deal well with his mother's crying, either-but, just like this time, he'd never let go.)

The thing was getting closer. On and on he ran, until he could barely see where he was going, he was just running-trying to get away, as far away from the creature as possible.

Except the further he ran, the slower he got-because the thing was almost upon him, nipping wildly at his heels like a rabid dog, and he was running, running as fast as his rubber knees would allow-

"WHO ARE YOU?" He screamed helplessly out into the night, only to get the response back, a deep, dark voice booming from out of the forest with the answer, "_A killer_."

"_What the goddamn hell do you want_!" he shouted madly from over his shoulder, trying to avoid looking, because if he looked, he couldn't run-he might trip and fall again and this time it would be too late, no more second chances for him-

Then it was upon him, this _Thing_, and everything was a blur, and something was biting him, kicking him, crushing him, and he tried to pull away, but he was being pinned to the floor, and the slimy snarling gnashing Thing was eating him alive…and just when he knew this was his last moment, he looked up, up into the face of the_ Thing_, and he couldn't believe what he saw-he was looking at-at-

Sawyer.

Mr. Sawyer.

Anthony Cooper.

_The man who had killed his family had found him. _

Oh but what a brutish man he was…The man's eyes and teeth were flaming daggers, and they were all aiming at him. All at once he couldn't breathe; something-Sawyer-was clutching his throat in a choke-hold and wouldn't let go.

"No-don't!" he tried to scream, but it was too late, his Adam's apple was being pushed down his throat and into his chest, and he couldn't breathe-

"NO!" James yelled, the air finally escaping his lungs, and once more, once again, he was awake and back in the same bed, only this time he wasn't alone, someone was there, and they had their hands on him, and they were trying to kill him. "GET OFFA ME!" he screamed, but they wouldn't let go. "DAMN YOU!" he shouted, "GET THE HELL OFFA ME!"

"We're trying to help you!" the voice said, but he didn't believe it, "James-we're just trying to help!"

"What the hell do you want from me," James spat with haggard breath through clenched teeth that dug so hard into his gums that they nearly struck blood, "I'm just me, I'm nothing—a loser-a good-for-nothing-I 'ain't anything you want!"

"_James_!"

"What!"

Suddenly a sharp object smacked him in the face and he was reeling-seeing stars-and everything was spinning, so dangerously that he feared he might fall off the edge. "What…what…" He didn't understand what was happening; he felt drugged. Everything was happening in slow motion. "Who…"

"James," the voice came again, sharp, distinct, male-and finally objects began to form once again, and he realized he was staring at someone he knew-and that someone was Miles.

"Sonofabitch," James swore venomously, and with such threat that Miles-not expecting it-jumped at the sound. "What the hell are you doing here?" he demanded, trying to cover up the embarrassment and hurt in his voice. "Who said you could come in?"

"Nobody, Boss," Miles said tightly, still staring-and it was painfully clear to James that he was still mesmerized by what he'd just witnessed. "I let myself in."

"Where's Juliet?" James snapped restlessly, glaring heatedly at Miles, "She's the only one I _allow_ in." At that, he proceeded to distract himself with trying to untangle himself from the sweat-soaked bed-sheets. "You want to tell me what business it is of yours bein' here?"

Still exhausted (in spite of restless sleep) from the previous night, Miles decided not to give in to what he knew would be a highly unpleasant discussion. "In case you didn't notice," he replied tartly instead, "Juliet and I both saved your butt yesterday…because I told Jin to say you were sick with that stomach bug that's been going around…because any second Horace could have come around asking why you haven't been at your job." _Not to mention that I saved your ass from throwing itself over the side as well, _he felt like saying, but wisely decided against it.

To his surprise and amazement, Jim seemed taken aback as well as oddly subdued. "Fine," he allowed tightly with a half-hearted, "guess I should give you two a medal, or…something."

_Ass_, Miles thought simply-but once again, he let the comment slide.

"What about a shower, huh?" Miles said when the silence became overwhelming.

"You sayin I stink?" James glowered at him, and Miles forced himself to hold his tongue.

"We're both just worried about you, Jim," he allowed softly, when James continued to glare silently down at the bedsheets (and Miles wondered whether he were secretly planning escape). "You have to cut us some slack here."

"Slack," James echoed flatly, shaking his head bitterly and chuckling darkly to himself, and Miles-not sure what to think-forced himself to look up at the man for explanation and answers-but all he saw were sunken eyes and broken dreams.


	17. I Pray For Thee My Soul To Keep: Part 1

**A/N: OK guys. Here's the big one. Thanks to Koralina for hypnotherapy suggestion! Reviews are much appreciated. I know this story has been a tough ride. I hate for James to have to suffer so much but healing an old wound is never easy. (It will get better for him, I promise-after all we've already seen that happen!) :) Thank you all my loyal readers. :) **

Blood was everywhere.

So much fucking blood.

He was drenched in it.

Blood in his mouth, in his eyes, in his nose-making it hard for him to breath-blood all over his hands, his clothes, _everywhere_.

It wasn't his blood. He wasn't hurt (at least not yet-they hadn't gotten to him yet).

It could be Anthony Cooper's. It could be Frank Duckett's. It could be his mother's...his father's...

James screamed, but he knew it was useless-he couldn't see anything else, only the blood.

"James relax. Just relax. Everything will be okay."

_No it won't I killed them all of them I choked him and strangled him to death and I shot him._

"Who, James?" That voice again, that goddamn voice, chewing at him, demanding answers...he wished it would just go away... "Who did you kill?"

_Frank Duckett...he was just a shrimp salesman...didn't deserve to die...I killed him...thought he was Sawyer..._

"You went through a horrible thing James...it was a terrible mistake..."

_Fucking Hibbs told me he was the real Sawyer...and he wasn't...he wasn't-_

"Relax James. You're in a safe place...just relax..."

_No don't make me I don't want to do this-_

"You're doing great." The voice was so patient-like a mother-so patient and understanding that he wanted to cry. Was it his therapist? (No, he hadn't been to therapy in a long time.)

_I didn't call 911...there was a phone by the bed...why the hell didn't I grab the stupid phone and call..._He dug his nails deeper into the soft cloth, knowing this was the only thing still keeping him there. Everything else was a blur. He knew the Thing would be back soon, any moment now; it was waiting for the right moment to finish him off; do him in.

"You were just a child James. You were terribly traumatized, and angry. You grew up and you wanted justice just like anyone would." The voice...it seemed to know him so well...it sounded so familiar...femanin...was it his mother?

_I'm a murderer, Dammit-I don't deserve to live-Shoulda died with them-_

"Picture your parents, James...Picture them her with you. They both loved you very much. You were their only child; their son. Picture your mother. What would she say?"

_It don't matter; she's not here! What's done is-_

"It does matter. Picture her face. Picture her voice. She loves you."

_(You didn't have to do this.) _

He knew that voice. It was male. It was full of despair and hatred. He knew he deserved this hatred. This was the man he'd killed.

_(Mommy loves you baby. Mommy loves you so much) _

"What would she say James? Would she want you to die?"

_She'd hate me for not stopping it. She'd hate me-_

"She'd want you to be happy and to get on with your life. She'd tell you that you did all you could. She'd tell you she wanted to save you and that's why she hid you under the bed."

_Lies lies lies, bullshit lies, bullshit all of it bullshit-_

_(IT'LL COME BACK AROUND) _ Duckett, come back once again from the dead to taunt him.

_SHUT THE FUCK UP DAMN YOU! JUST GODDAMN LEAVE ME THE HELL ALONE! _

"I can't do that James. This is for you, to help you heal...everyone deserves to heal."

_Not true, what about the man who killed my parents, does he deserve to heal? what about that goddamn asshole Hibbs? Hell, what about _me_? _

"Just forget about him. All of that is behind you. You're here, you're safe."

_(It'll come back around-_

_I can't do this. Don't make me do this. _

"I'm not making you do anything James. I'm just here to walk with you down this dark path."

_Funny I don't remember asking you to!_

He was breathing too hard. A hand was gripping his throat (was he dreaming?) _Oh please God oh Jesus I swear if you exist I'll do ANYTHING-_

"Tell me about that night James."

_GO TO HELL! _He was shouting. Trying to suffocate the voice with his words, except the voice wouldn't listen. The voice knew him too well.

"It's almost night, James...you have to face what's happening-"

_It don't matter! They're already dead! There ain't nothing I can do to stop it. What's done is done! _

"Where did you hear that James?"

_What happened happened!_

"Who taught you that you can't change?"

_People never change! _

"What about you? You were a con artist. You became Head of Security."

_Circumstance, that's all it was-survival-_

"Always surviving, James...what about just _being_?"

_Just-get outta my head! Just shut up okay-you don't know a goddamn single thing you're talking about! Who the hell are you huh? Why do you know so goddamn much? _

"What scares you about tonight?" _Stupid stock shrink questions...Oh how he wanted to slap that voice silly. _

_I 'AIN'T SCARED! _But he was. He most definitely was.

"You're not going to turn into a pumkin, James." _Fucking wit. _

_You think you're so smart, huh? _

"I think I'm a doctor James, who's only trying to help you."

_What time is it? _

"What does it matter? The past is gone."

_WHAT TIME IS IT!_

"Why do you want to know James?"

He wanted to hit, kick, punch, but he was shaking so hard he couldn't move. He knew what time it was. It was THE time. _YOU KNOW WHAT TIME!_

"You survived it the first time, didn't you?"

_So WHAT? _

"You've already survived. The past is beyond you. It's time to move forward."

_It's fuckng 1976! _

"We can't change what happened. I could go warn my sister that she's going to die of cancer. Should I abandon you and run away? She'd still be sick, she might be able to get help faster, but at the same time, she might not. She also wouldn't understand how I'd know, where I came from-"

_Goddamnit! It's Not the same thing! _

"You can't save your parents James."

And there it was: the cold, hard truth, looking him right in the eye, and he suddenly couldn't breath. _Oh God I think I'm gonna be sick-_

"I'm here baby, I'm here."

Bile everywhere, up his throat, out of his mouth, through his nose, like blood. The voice remained, caressing, conjoling, holding him, and it began to dawn on James that he wasn't dreaming...this was Juliet...holding him, rocking him, and he was sobbing into her helplessly.

"It's okay baby. It's okay. I got you sweetheart..."

_(Only babies cry) _

"SHUT UP!" He wasn't sure if this was the voice or himself, and then he couldn't hold on anymore, he collapsed in her arms.

"James...I'm here...I'm here..." His love.

"Oh my God Juliet...Oh my God..." He gripped her hard, forcing himself not to let go; if he let go, he might fall into the deepest crevice of the universe and never find his way out. At the same time he couldn't believe this was real. She was there...she was there...and she wasn't letting go.


	18. I Pray For Thee My Soul To Keep: Part 2

Grief...pain...loss. James Ford knew all these words too well; seemed he had known them all his life. Knew how each one, when experienced even slightly, could knock the wind out of you, and bring you whimpering, helplessly, like a child losing their innocence, to your knees; knew that, after so much was lost, the only thing you could count on to stick around was yourself. He never expected that someone he loved would remain, holding him close, wiping his tears away.

Juliet...he loved her in a way that words could not describe. Every time he tried to voice them, the words became unforgivably stuck in his throat, and he could only bury his face deeper inside.

"How could you not hate me," he said huskily, as she still caressed and soothed his battered soul.

Juliet bent down; he could feel her lips brushing lightly upon his skin, warming him all over, inside and out. "I just don't," she said simply, gently stroking his cheek.

For a moment James couldn't answer; instead, he watched the shadows as they traveled slowly, almost aimlessly about the room; the moon like a guiding light, a watchful eye peeking in through the open window. A breeze from the East moved the curtains slightly back and forth; back and forth.

"I killed an innocent man, Juliet," he allowed finally; the sound of his voice surprising him, as it sounded almost unrecognizable, as it was hoarse from sobbing. (He couldn't remember ever having unloaded so much pain; it was like a weight had been lifted off of him...but he was still embarrassed, and so he continued to watch the night sky as he spoke.) "That file didn't hold even half the mistakes that I've made...so much that you don't know about me." _Like Clementine,_ he thought miserably, instinctively turning his anger inward; how could he ever tell Juliet he had a daughter he'd never seen?

"It doesn't matter," Juliet whispered lovingly, holding him closer, and he had to struggle to fight back tears once again (_big goddamn baby_). "You're not who you used to be."

"I killed Cooper with a set of chains and my bare hands." He heard himself saying the words; couldn't believe he was saying them. "Locke conned me into thinking it was Linus."

Silence; he feared that perhaps he'd said too much. Then, much to his relief, Juliet answered quietly, after a long and awkward pause: "If it brought you some sense of closure, then...I don't see where you were wrong."

His heart swelled with an unexpected hope at the words; could someone actually understand?

"Can I ask you something, James?" Juliet said suddenly, facing him with a look that sent chills of anticipation and fear running up and down his spine.

"Shoot," he said, then almost laughed bitterly at the irony.

"Do you hate him...your father? For...what he did?"

The question startled him; he'd never really given it much thought, having been so focused on hating Sawyer all these years. His father hadn't been exactly what some would call a "model" father, but he'd worked hard and brought home the bread. Sure, he could be hard to win over, and he was often bitter and mean, but he only yelled when he lost his temper-he never hit (at least in James' recollection). James knew what it felt like to be conned; he'd been conned when he'd killed Duckett, because it was what Hibbs had wanted...so he could understand his father's rage when he found out he was being played, but-could he forgive his father for unleashing his gun? Could he forgive him for turning the gun on his mother, then on himself?

James shut his eyes against the pain, remembering...

...that somewhere in Jasper, Alabama, his mother was being rushed to a hospital, or was already there, and a team of doctors was trying to repair the damage that his father had done.

Somewhere in Jasper, Alabama, a young boy was hiding under a bed, staring at his father's legs as blood trickled down and collected in a pool on the hard wooden floor...

"I don't hate him." James surprised himself with the confession, and was quiet for a few seconds before adding carefully, "But I can't forgive him." When Juliet said nothing, he forced himself to go on, "My mother might have been having an affair but she didn't have to be shot dead for it."

"I can buy that." Juliet squeezed him closer; so close that he thought he might burst into tears from the warmth that spread throughout him; the warmth that he knew was coming from her heart. "What about your mother? Do you...forgive her?"

_Mommy loves you baby. Under the bed you go. _

"If it wasn't for my mother," he whispered hoarsly, "I wouldn't be alive...so...yeah," he answered slowly, shocking himself once again at the words, "I guess I do." An unexpected vision forced him to close his eyes: a wisp of shiny blond hair, glistening in the moonlight, getting caught in his lips as she hugged him goodbye. For a moment the sudden lump in his throat prevented him from speaking, but when it was safe and he could speak again he turned towards her, his love, and said, "I'm so glad you're here." He'd never said that to anyone before; the words felt foreign on his tongue, but he meant them with all his heart.

"I am too," she said, and kissed him passionately on the lips.

"How do I get through this night," he wondered aloud, as they continued to lie side by side in the dark, her his only anchor, keeping him tethered to Earth. "I don't want to sleep...I don't want to dream...because if I dream, I'll be there...and this time, I don't think I'll let you get away..." He was shaking something awful now, shaking like a leaf in spite of himself, but still she didn't go, even though he knew she was risking her life in staying.

"I won't let that happen," she insisted fiercely, holding him even tighter, as though she somehow knew it was all he could count on to help keep him sane: "I'm not going anywhere."

He wanted to believe her. (Oh how he wanted to believe.) She might trust him-but how could he trust himself? He'd almost killed her once before...and that hadn't been tonight...tonight would be the ultimate test...for if he could survive this night...

...he could survive anything.


	19. Requiem

Morning.

Sunlight peeking its way in through the window.

A light breeze blowing, playfully tickling his hair.

Somewhere, outside, children laughing...

Birds singing.

A kiss.

The simple yet powerful words, "I love you."

The smell of coffee brewing, drifting in from beyond the doorway of his room.

The impression of Juliet's body on the bedspread, left when she got up to make him some breakfast.

Her repeating to him over and over again: _It's not your fault...it wasn't your fault._

That's when it hit him as quickly as the flash of light that had brought him and Juliet here, to the year 1976: _I'm here. It happened. I'm alive...and I'm still _Here.

Oh, the relief he felt...Should he laugh or cry? (Funny, somehow it suddenly didn't matter.) He only knew: _he was alive. _

For some miraculous reason, the Universe had decided to spare him once again. He could wake up, take a shower, drink his coffee, kiss his lover-_Was he still dreaming? _ (It all seemed almost too good to be true.)

Finally he found the strength to pull himself from the bed, threw on a robe and amble into the kitchen, where he was more than slightly startled to find not only Juliet, but Miles sitting at the kitchen table as as well. The sight of his partner was strangely calming somehow; it was as though Miles instinctively knew he needed the extra support today. (James hadn't forgotten-how could he?-that strange night out at the pier, and try though he might to suppress it, he was eternally grateful that Miles had come when he did...because there was no telling what might have happened if he hadn't.)

"Well well!" Miles whistled through his teeth with obvious delight, "Morning sunshine! Looks like we finally rose the dead...how was your beauty sleep?"

"Interesting choice of words, Compadre," James mumbled without answering, but he was grinning; Miles' dry wit was always something he could count on to see him through. "Good to see you too, Miles." Sitting just beside his partner, Juliet was beaming at him, looking pleased that he was in better spirits, and he bent to give her a peck on the lips. "Morning Blondie," he greeted her with the old term of affection, and she smiled back warmly, handing out to him a full cup of steaming hot coffee, which he eagerly drew to his lips.

"Looks like we both made it through the night, huh?" Juliet placed a hand on his, and the true meaning of those words were not lost on him; her relief was as palpable as his own. (He could not remember dreaming.)

"So...what did you tell Horace about my little vacation?" He knew he was avoiding the more important subject-though thankfully, Juliet did not try to stop him.

"I spoke with him," Miles announced, and this took James completely by surprise. (Once again, Miles' loyalty and integrity had saved him.) "I told him you had a bad case of the flu that's been going around lately. Jin's been covering all your shifts."

"Good story," James nodded, pleased that these were colleagues he could rely on. "Remind me to thank him. You both saved my butt, Miles." He tried not to think about how he must have appeared the past few days. "Look, I know I've been a real mess lately-"

"Well _that's _the understatement of the year," Miles chided playfully, giving him a mischievous nudge and winking knowingly, "Don't worry Boss, we all have our things...I'll let this one slide."

"You better," James informed him coolly (however amused). He wasn't sure whether to slap the little bugger or hug him; either way, it seemed he was safe, and for that he was undeniably relieved.

Miles slapped him affectionately on the back. "You got it. So, should I tell him you're coming in to work today?"

"Yeah," James murmured slowly. "Tomorrow though." An idea had popped into his head-one that wouldn't let go. "I gotta do something first," he allowed quietly, trying to ignore the sudden swelling in his throat. A vision of flowers floating upon the water was demanding his attention, and he knew at once what he must do. He surprised himself with what he said next: "Will you guys help me?"

"Hey what are friends for?" Miles supplied without hesitation, and for a moment James was so moved he couldn't speak.

When he found his voice again, he could only manage to utter, "Oh don't get mushy on me, now..." But Miles's words had given him a strangely wonderful feeling inside...a feeling of peace...of friendship...of being wanted. He could not protest much more than that.

"Sorry Boss," Miles grinned back at him with amusement, before draping a loyal arm across James's shoulder, "looks like you're stuck with us."

"We love you," Juliet said, taking his hand in hers once again-and before he could protest, she had wrapped him in a loving embrace-and though he often didn't take hugs, she was his love...so he let her.

Later that afternoon, as the sun began its slow descent and the sky turned several shades of pink and orange hues, James stood on the main dock with Miles and Juliet, who carried with them several tea candles. In his hands, James held several water lilies that he had found in a lagoon not too far away. "For Mom," he'd said, by way of explanation, "Her favorite artist was Monet."

Juliet's eyes had filled with tears and she had squeezed him so hard, he thought his heart might burst with emotion. "That's a beautiful way to say goodbye James," she'd whispered lovingly into his ear.

"Guess that's what I've come to do," James remarked, trying to keep his emotions afloat (though it was difficult; the moment so pure, and right-he'd been waiting a long time, he realized, to do this.) "I was too young to say a real goodbye when it happened."

"They'd be real proud of you Jim," said Miles, handing a lighted tea candle on a paper plate to James as he spoke.

All around them, the night was falling. The crickets were calling. The day was finally winding down.

Feeling the warmth of the candlelight, James listened to the tree frogs singing on the breeze and shut his eyes. He could almost feel them with him: his parents...Jim and Mary. Would they be proud? He wanted to think so, but would never admit it...though it seemed Miles could read his thoughts anyhow, so he did not have to worry.

A knot in his throat almost prevented him from speaking the words, "Love you Mom," as he placed the tea candle upon the water and watched it begin to drift upon the waves. He couldn't bring himself to say "Dad" yet...but, as Juliet had told him, that would come, in time.

Juliet handed him a lilly next, and they each bent down to release them to the bay. Before James could stop her, Juliet had lit another candle and set that down as well. "For your dad," she said, and James said nothing; the light began to blur as the two candles connected momentarily, then drifted apart before continuing to float away.

"She would have loved this," James whispered, his eyes on the water. Whispering, because he was unable to speak further for risk of tears. "Thanks...both of you...for everything." He meant it from the bottom of his heart; never in his whole life had he been so grateful for two people. Grateful too for this moment, for he seemed to feel a hundred times lighter-like a gigantic air balloon had opened up inside of him and was lifting him off the ground.

As though she had read his mind, Juliet inquired, "Think you'll be able to sleep better tonight?" The question made him pause: he had not dreamt since she'd guided him through that awful dream...hopefully, it would not return.

"Perhaps if my right-hand man stands guard in the living room," James suggested loosely with his eyes resting questioningly upon Miles, "he's got the night shift anyway...and there's more than enough people on task so that he won't be needed elsewhere, right, Miles?"

"Sure thing, partner." Much to his relief, Miles looked pleased. "I got you covered."

"I'll make sure you sleep peacefully, sweetheart," Juliet declared, leaning into kiss him passionately; once again, he was moved to silence by her loyal vows and good intentions. "If you need me, I'll be there."

For the firs time in his life, James could breath easy, for he truly believed her...because she was more than his partner in intimacy. She was his everything.

She was his home.


	20. Epilogue

**Thank you everyone for being such loyal readers. This story was such a journey for me as a writer, and I hope it was one for you as a reader! Any suggestions for future stories are welcome. Reviews and feedback are always welcome and much appreciated! Enjoy.**

"Well I think that's everything."

For a moment, LA X airport was still, and the only thing James saw was the love in both his parents' eyes.

"So where do you go from here, Jimmy?" his father asked, eyes shining.

"Going home," James replied with certainty. "What about you two?"

"We've got another plane to catch." His father set a strong hand upon his shoulder, steadying him with his eyes. "You'll be just fine, Son."

"I know," said James with conviction; inside, his heart swelled with self-pride.

Besides him, his mother leaned forward and kissed him lightly on the cheek. "We're so proud of you sweetheart," she said, and before he could answer, she'd wrapped him tight in a loving embrace-taking his breath away. "Come and visit us when you can, okay?" she asked, seeking him imploringly with her eyes.

"Of course I will, Mom." His throat felt thick as he hugged her back.

"You've come a long way, son," said his father, nodding knowingly, watching him with his piercing brown eyes. "I've waited a long time to see my son become a man."

"Thanks." He still couldn't say "dad", but this time, he looked his father in the eyes, and saw him for what he was: a man, plain and simple...human...imperfect, as he was, but still capable of many good things.

"Don't forget to stay in touch now," his father declared (was that a mist in his eyes?).

"Okay," James agreed, trying to force a convincing smile, for the distance between them would be indeed far.

"We love you sweetheart," his mother said, eyes brimming over.

"Love you too, Mom"-He was about to say this when the announcer cut in, declaring that this was his parents' last call to board the plane.

"We'll be thinking of you," his father said, and before James could respond, his father performed a sharp salute. James, too moved to respond, could only nod his approval as both his parents, smiling at him from over their shoulders, grabbed their belongings and turned towards the gate...

...leaving James behind, watching as soon other passengers began to follow, and soon they were obscured by the crowd.

Soon, his own plane would arrive, come to take him home.

"Goodbye," said James...

...and closed his eyes.


End file.
